


Blood Rising

by Llewelley



Category: Only Lovers Left Alive (2013), Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Clairvoyance, Detroit, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Erotica, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Historical References, Musical References, Psychic Abilities, Psychological Drama, Secrets, Sexual Tension, Suicidal Thoughts, Vampires, emotional dependency, sexual dependency
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-02-17 04:49:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 31,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2297162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llewelley/pseuds/Llewelley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam returns to Detroit and finds a new confidant to run errands for him. Their relationship is one of convenience and relative anonymity until the night she discovers his true nature, a revelation which brings the two closer together. They become entwined in a romance dependent on like-mindedness and sexual magnetism. But will their differences and secretive personalities cause everything to unravel?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story attempts to maintain the general mood of the film- the dragging pace, the romanticism, the loneliness, the nostalgia etc., but it will become increasingly emotional and psychological. Like the film, this is mainly a character study.

  


It was an unspoken agreement between the two of them—they didn’t ask questions, they didn’t interfere in each other’s lives. She would send out a loud whistle whenever she was outside his house and wanted him to let her in. Then she would walk up the dimly lit flights of stairs with him leading the way, stepping over the junk he had scattered around, and hand over whatever she had gotten him in exchange for a considerable sum of money. As far as either of them was concerned, this was an ideal friendship.  


_________

Adam had run into her upon returning from Tangier—a trip he was determined to forget. It had nearly cost him his life, but that didn’t bother him at all, he couldn’t have cared less about that. It was the others. Chris. Eve. Chris was gone, vanished into nothing, barely a memory in the minds of the zombies and their beloved Shakespeare. And Eve, she’d grown so weak and void of life that Adam felt as though he were married to a stranger. For months he scrambled to find them blood, and they drank whatever he could get, often rolling the dice on what may have been bad stuff. But they survived, and as was customary, once they’d had their fill of each other’s love and affection, they parted ways. He had to admit that he was happy, as happy as he could manage, to be back in godforsaken Detroit. Home sweet home.  


It was when his taxi stopped at a red light that Adam heard the faint yet inescapable sound of beautiful music echoing through the dark, empty street. Weary from the flight and knowing dawn wouldn’t come too soon, he decided he could use a distraction. “Drop me off here, please,” he grumbled at the driver, already gripping the handles of his single suitcase and guitar case. He followed the music down the dirty pavement to the open door of a nearby bar where through the glass he could make out the figure of a young woman with long raven hair and tawny skin. He walked in, greeted by noise and smoke.

She wore a red tartan jacket and stood on stage playing a Sonic Blue Stratocaster, a lovely contrast of colors and textures. She didn’t sing and she didn’t speak except to utter a simple “thank you” after each song. For about half an hour Adam watched her through his dark sunglasses from a booth by the door while the crowd danced and drank and chatted with each other. He was mesmerized by her innate talent and the vibrations of sound filling the neon-lit space. She didn’t see him, but for those dear sweet minutes he could see nothing but her.

After she finished her set, seeing that she was alone by the back exit, Adam dodged the bodies filling the room and closed the distance between them. “Pardon me, but what is your name?” Seemingly startled, she looked at him doe-eyed with confusion and declined to give the tall, dark stranger her name. Who was he and what did he want? All she was here to do was punch in the clock once more before the weekend ended. 

“May I call you Beryl, then?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Loud feedback screeched through the speakers while another act was setting up.

“The white stone on your ring. The gold ring on your forefinger, I was admiring it while you played. It’s a good name for you.”

As it turned out, “Beryl” was lighthearted and full of spirit. She joked and laughed entirely too often in Adam’s opinion, but when she was at ease she reminded him of Eve, which wasn’t too bad at all. She turned down his offer to buy her a drink at first, but at least it hadn’t taken too long to convince her to sit at his table. He didn’t really find out anything about her that night other than that she was from Buffalo, New York and had lived out of her car until she’d gathered enough money playing gigs to start renting a room in Springwells just a few weeks earlier.

“I will find you a better place to stay,” Adam stated plainly, in monotone. 

“What, at your place?” she snickered with suspicion.

“No. I’ll pay for an apartment for you and I’ll finance your music. All you have to do is get for me whatever I ask of you.”

She let out a heavy sigh followed by a breathy laugh and shook her head. “Look. I’m not a pusher and I’m not turning tricks. I can point you in their direction if that’s what you’re looking for. You’re cute and all, but that’s not nearly enough for me to be putting my ass on the line for you.”

Adam felt a strange warmth start to creep up on his face. No one used the word cute to describe him except Eve. He looked at her almost lovingly. 

“That’s not what I’m looking for,” he finally said. He stood up from the booth and walked over to the bar to fetch the drink Beryl had decided to order once she’d finished sizing him up. Get something free out of this creep, she figured. She sat nursing her drink while Adam went on to describe what Ian used to do for him. He made up a lie about Ian running off to L.A. to do sessions and explained to her that he needed someone to run errands for him with absolute discretion while he worked from home. His situation was very particular, he said, but not anything that should concern her. He couldn’t trust very many people, but he had a good feeling about her.  
Beryl did not let down her suspicions for a moment, the whole thing sounded absurd. How could he be willing to trust someone he just met? But she was intrigued by the thought of being able to make sure money without putting herself in danger while still being free to make music, and the more she talked to Adam, the safer she felt around him. Accepting the proposition was ill-advised, crazy even, but when he removed his sunglasses and she looked into his eyes, he seemed sincere. There was something ethereal about the lithe Englishman dressed in all black; it was as if he were a lost soul searching for a kindred spirit. She thought it over. 

“Fine. Fine, I’ll do it a couple of times and then we’ll see what happens.”

Adam placed a leather-gloved hand over hers on the table and slid back into his seat.

“I appreciate it.”

\----------

It didn’t take long for her to figure out who Adam was. His music was everywhere and he didn’t even know it. In every underground club you could hear his riffs and rhythms and music nerds throughout the country had theories about who the brilliant musician was, where he lived, what he looked like. She felt incredibly privileged to be so close to him, and yet she never allowed herself to fawn over him or praise his brilliance. He could never find out that she owned bootlegs of his records or that for the first couple of years she’d played, her style had been completely derivative of his. 

It also didn’t take her long to realize that there was something off about him. She’d met many eccentrics in her life, but Adam was something more. Even with all of his success, he seldom left the confines of his home, which was already in the middle of nowhere, and he insisted that Beryl only visit him in the nighttime. From the outside, the house looked completely uninhabited, and the interior was cut off from the rest of the world by thick brocade curtains. One day while she was sitting across from him in his dark, pattern-filled living room Beryl mentioned having heard what sounded like one of Adam’s songs covered by a band at an outdoor festival. He rolled his eyes. She simply brushed it off. “Sorry, man. I didn’t think it would bother you that much anymore.” “It’s just… playing my music during the daytime. Oh, nevermind.” He ended the conversation there and disappeared into another room, leaving Beryl to see her way out.  
He was like that often. She never saw him smile. 

Adam’s house, despite its antiquated appearance, was completely modern and self-sufficient; it wasn’t even connected to the grid. He had devised everything around him to suit his needs and it amazed Beryl that a single person could have acquired that much knowledge about science, engineering, and audio technologies in a lifetime, in addition to being a legendary musician. The man must be some sort of savant, she figured. 

Beryl knew he was annoyed by her constant questions about the world he’d carved out for himself, which were really just out of curiosity. It’s not like she ever pried into his life, she just wanted to know how the wiring worked, what the pictures were of, what room that door led to. Every now and then, he actually told her.  
His unused kitchen was completely crowded with old sound equipment and dusty books and Beryl was more than once tempted to ask him if he wanted her to bring him something to eat, but she reminded herself that it was not her job to babysit him.

She did her part by bringing him records old and new, rare instruments, and every now and then obscure vintage items that Adam seemed to hoard as a hobby. He certainly had a love for antiquated expressions and formalities and seemed to be completely oblivious to the fact that other people didn’t make use of such things anymore. Beryl subconsciously started adding up the clues that implied who Adam truly was—what Adam truly was, but she didn’t allow herself time to speculate. She would drive back to her apartment in the middle of the night, headlights beating down on the dark, cracked roads, a wad of cash stuffed down her shirt. For the first couple of months she spent most of her time thinking about the tracks she would be working on now that she hardly played gigs, and the new equipment she could buy now that her financial problems were being taken care of. What Adam was up to after she left was none of her business. 

Then came the day when Adam e-mailed her in the afternoon telling her to come over immediately. Her phone went off while she sat cross-legged in bed with a guitar on her lap. The mattress was still laid out on the floor of the new apartment. She’d been trying to fix a fret buzzing problem that had been bugging her for the last week or so and wondering whether it was time to buy a new acoustic. Perhaps Adam could fix it? Speak of the devil.

_Come over. Now.  
Yours, Adam_


	2. Chapter 2

As she approached the house, Beryl noticed a car parked in front of it that wasn’t Adam’s and suddenly understood what was going on. He had warned her about this—the “rock and roll kids” as he called them. Always stalking him, trying to catch a glimpse of their elusive hero. There were four of them just shuffling about, looking up at the windows. Yeah, man, this is the right place. 

She drove clear past them, circling around to park on the back road, knowing that she would have to sneak in through the unruly garden that Adam kept behind the isolated Victorian home. It was eerie all around the place, even in the daylight. A flock of blackbirds rose from the grass in a nearby vacant plot and swarmed the sky in a dark, droning cloud. After making her way through an abandoned property, she climbed a low chain-link fence into the yard and tore a hole in her stockings while maneuvering between the rose bushes. “Damn!” 

Beryl called up to him with a whistle, but he didn’t part the curtains to see who it was like he always did. She felt her phone vibrate with an incoming message.

_It’s open.  
Yours, Adam_

\-----------

“They frighten me, Beryl,” he confessed once she’d made it upstairs. He paced around in his stripped dressing gown while she sat trying to reason with him, her knees curled up on the faded red velvet upholstery. 

“It’s not as terrible as you're making it out to be. They’re only interested in you because they love your work. Is it so wrong that they want to know more about you?”

“No one needs to know more about me. I don’t want them too. The only way to preserve the purity of art in these times is to separate it from the ego.”

“You really believe that, don’t you?”

“It’s the truth.”

“I tore my stockings trying to get to you because you’re troubled by the possibility that someone might want to meet you. Fan-fucking-tastic.” She threw her hands up in exasperation and then held her head between them, waiting for him to say something. After a minute of silence, she got up from her seat, walked over to the window and parted the curtains saying, “Look, they’re gone. They’re not there anymore.”

When she turned to look back, Beryl’s disoriented eyes searched out the suddenly missing figure of Adam until they focused on a corner away from the bright streak of sunlight that now divided the room. He was panting and fear was evident in his dilated eyes. She closed the curtains in haste as a strange concoction of distress and confusion settled into the pit of her stomach. “I’m so sorry, Adam. I just… ah, shit…” she said, feeling a small sting of pain as she sat back down, “I didn’t know one of the thorns had cut me.” She placed the tip of the finger on which she wore her gemstone ring over the exposed flesh right below her knee and removed a single drop of blood. 

Adam stayed in place, his breathing growing heavier. She looked up at him and witnessed an expression on his face which she hadn’t previously seen. His eyes were full of wild desire like a starved animal and his lips twitched involuntarily. His eyelids fluttered shut as he ran both hands roughly from his disheveled hair down to his face and neck as if he were trying to calm himself down. He looked extraordinarily vulnerable. It was then that she _knew._

“Adam…” she spoke gently, “Adam, it’s okay.”

He looked down on at the floor dejectedly, waiting for his breathing to return to normal.

“Adam, I know what you are… I mean, I think I know, considering… well, I’m not afraid of you. That’s what I want to say. It really is alright.”

He refused to look at her or speak until he had regained his composure. Adam recognized that there was no use denying it and that if Beryl was in fact familiar with vampires, then she might have been unto him from the start. I’d been a long time since he’d been honest with a zombie. But Beryl wasn’t an ordinary zombie, she was completely at ease around him and didn’t seem bothered by even his strangest behavior. When he finally decided it was safe to look up, he was met with a look of deep sympathy. Her charcoal eyes were glistening with worry like she was expecting to be asked to leave and never return. The silence was painful, and it was now almost as if he were the offending party. He moved slowly and quietly back to his seat on the leather armchair. 

“I don’t suppose,” he began, “there’s any harm in you knowing the truth. I owe you that much, Beryl. And I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“I also want you to know that I would never hurt you.”

“I know, Adam.”

Beryl was immediately relieved, but still dealing with the internal turmoil following the revelation that the man she was working for was not actually human. There was a certain feeling of melancholy in the room as the two of them struggled to be comfortable around each other again for several long minutes. Adam saw it as his duty to break the tension. 

“I shall answer your questions over chess, if it pleases you,” he proposed, rising from his seat and extended his hand out to Beryl. She reached out to grab it, feeling the dry coldness of his skin for the first time.


	3. Chapter 3

“Do you only drink human blood?” Beryl asked, moving her bishop away from his rook. This particular set was carved from ivory and every now and then he would groan with disapproval when she distractedly picked up a piece to admire the craftsmanship. 

“Only clean human blood. No impurities.”

“And where do you find this blood?”

He sighed as his heart swelled with grief. “It’s becoming nearly impossible, but I’ve managed to find a provider here in Detroit. It’s mainly the reason why I’ve made my home here. That, and because it’s beautiful.”

“Beautiful.” She repeated, amused.

“In the nighttime it is. The streetlights glow and the signs flash, but the darkness touches everything. This city is full of old souls like mine. I feel that I could enjoy life among them.”

“I’m not so sure how much you enjoy life, Adam.”

“I said I could.”

“Not while you stay a recluse, living here like fucking Des Esseintes.”

“Des Esseintes? Wow. That sounds like a reference my wife would make.”

He had spoken of Eve before in passing, but like with everything else, Beryl had made sure to not meddle too much.

“And she’s a big fan of literature, yeah?”

“Yes, she is.” He paused. “It’s what she lives for.”

“And what do you live for?” Beryl dared to ask.

He stayed silent for too long of a time and she almost felt like she shouldn’t have asked. Then he replied, “I’m not sure. I used to live for music, but sometimes now I feel that I play more out of habit than for pleasure. Every now and then the old feelings come back… like the first time I heard you play… and when Eve and I are together, I know that we both feel grateful to be amongst the few left alive.”

“Why does she live on the other side of the world then?”

“Because she is her own person. I am my own person. And we have the rest of eternity to spend together. We’ll be here even after you’ve gone. We’ll survive. I suppose that’s what I live for—survival. Survival which is only sustained by love.”  
Beryl took in what he had to say, cast her eyes down and made her next move on the board.  
“Would you like to see our wedding picture?” he asked. 

“I would.”

Adam excused himself to retrieve a small square box from the top drawer of a nearby bureau. It contained a framed photograph of Adam, dressed in a suit complete with waistcoat and cravat and his hair neatly combed. He was accompanied by a tall, elegant blonde woman who looked particularly striking in a white dress and veil. An an educated guess would date the picture to the mid-nineteenth century. 

“You’ve been together that long, huh?”

“Oh no. Much longer than that.”  
Despite the nonchalance with which he uttered the words, something in his eyes lit up as he spoke. Beryl felt like she was seeing a side of him beyond the brooding, jaded exterior. She glanced over it once more before covering it and handing it back to its owner with a small smile.  
Adam sat back down across from her, but no longer seemed interested in the game.

“They woke me up, you know. Those fucking zombie rock and roll kids,” he told her. “I’m so bloody tired, but the moon will be rising soon and I won’t be able to fall asleep.”

Beryl had put down the chess piece and started on her nervous habit of spinning the rings on her fingers.

“Maybe you should feed to regain some energy,” she suggested. Part of the suggestion came from a place of genuine concern and the rest was pure curiosity. Would he go for it?

“Hmm. I usually don’t feed this early.” He pondered the proposal quietly for a minute and before Beryl knew it, he had left the room. She moved away from the table and went to recline on the couch next to one of Adam’s Gibson’s. She waited for him patiently and anxiously, tuning the instrument and strumming random chords.  
Adam reappeared having rid of his dressing gown and walked into the room barefoot and topless, wearing only his customary black belted jeans. In his right hand he held a cordial glass filled to the brim with a red liquid—clean human blood. Beryl suddenly felt a bit queasy.

“I was going to have my fill in private,” he said, “but I thought you might want to see this.”

Now completely alert and with a torrent of fear making its way through her limbs, Beryl sat up straight as Adam removed his guitar and settled in on the opposite corner of the couch, one leg curled up and the other on the floor. 

“I don’t mean to frighten you, I just want you to understand my nature. This may be new and strange to you, but this is my reality,” he remarked frankly, trying to not heighten the intensity of the situation. Nonetheless, Beryl braced herself for something that was bound to be truly uncanny. It was one thing to believe that Adam was a vampire, and a whole other to see it with one’s own eyes. She looked at him, the pale flesh and angular frame that were by now centuries old. She wondered if she would be able to tolerate this transformation, if she could see him the same way again afterwards. But the fact that he trusted her enough to show her his true self warmed her heart. As he brought the glass to his lips, her emotions were like a swarm of bees in her ribcage.

Adam tipped it slowly and drank its contents in a single swallow. His adam’s apple bobbed up and down and his eyes widened for a moment before closing. The muscles of his face contorted and then relaxed into a look of absolute ecstasy. 

For Adam, there was nothing like the taste of blood. It was the essence of life, the thing which made him feel like he had transcended the trappings of the mortal world. It was a light that came from within; to drink it was absolute bliss. He lay back, letting the substance overcome him.

She continued to gaze upon him. It would have been logical to recoil or run away, but in his natural state Adam was more beautiful than she imagined anyone could be. It was as though the blood had breathed life into him—his spirit was radiating through his skin. He threw his head back against the cushioned surface and let out a low moan that came from deep within him. Just as Beryl became aware of how close she was to him, causing her face to redden, Adam’s eyelids flickered open and he looked at her through narrowed eyes. He slowly raised an arm and extended it toward Beryl, inviting her to touch him. She reached out to clasp hands with him initially, but then let her fingers travel down to his wrist and forearm. She gasped. “You’re warm.” More than that, touching Adam was like coming into contact with a pure source of energy. She felt vibrations spread from her arm into her chest like he was communicating with her, revealing a deep secret that only the two of them could hear. Beryl wondered if this is what it felt to be an instrument in the hands of a master. This was so personal, so intimate. The thrill of it could only be compared to the overwhelming feelings produced by great art or the exquisite undoing of the body during sex. She was paralyzed.

Adam’s hand slipped away and his eyes opened fully as the immediate effects of intake faded. He took notice of the impression that the experience had made on Beryl and immediately felt the need to apologize for his inconsiderateness. 

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have… I’m very sorry,” he said in a whisper.

She remained speechless for a moment, her lips quivering as she tried to form words. “Oh, no. Adam, no, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s all so… surreal. Supernatural.”

He still looked remarkably worried, almost teary-eyed. Beautiful, Beryl thought once more. It was the only word to describe him. She saw his hand resting on the cushion and felt a deep longing to reach for it again. It was almost as if fresh blood was coursing through her own veins as well. Adam, who had seemed such a small presence from the day she met him, a nearly non-existent being, suddenly filled the room with an unknowable essence. It was unbearable. 

“You shouldn’t worry, Adam,” she said, gently rising from her seat with fraught casualness. “I’m really glad you showed me. But I gotta go now. It’s late, you know.”  
Adam nodded. 

“I understand. Let me pay you for last week.”

“You can pay me next time. Just so that you’re sure that there will be a next time. I’ll be back.”

Adam was pleased with her response, relieved that he had in fact not scared Beryl away. He needed her. The one thing Eve had asked him to do before he left Tangier was to not be entirely alone; to find someone to look after him. He hadn’t asked why, the implication was clear, the reason was obvious. 

“Sleep well.” 

“Goodnight, Adam.”

As she opened the door to her car, Beryl laughed at the thought that she had nearly said ‘you too.’ Her heart weighed heavy in her chest, but her body felt light. She drove without the radio on, listening to the hum of the engine and tightly grasping the steering wheel. She wondered if Adam would stay awake till the dawn. As Beryl was leaving, she’d noticed Adam had picked up a mandolin and started playing on the couch slackly, still barefoot and shirtless. The melody had gotten stuck in her head, but she didn’t try to chase it out. If she did, it would certainly be replaced with an image of him, and she wasn’t about to have any of that. No shivers running down her spine, definitely none.

Beryl reached into the glovebox to fish out a cigarette from a crushed, nearly empty carton. It was a habit she'd never fully committed to, but indulged in every once in a while out of sheer restlessness and if there was ever a time, this was it. No lighter in the car, she'd have to wait until she got home, but she still held it between her lips. Reality was sinking in and her blood was rising. Adam is a vampire. Goddammit.


	4. Chapter 4

Adam watched her from the window. He'd been up earlier than usual, before the sun had fully set, and wandered the house aimlessly in his dressing gown, not wanting to do much of anything until his most recent order got there. He was excited about this one, but more than that, he was anxious to see Beryl again. When it got dark enough, he opened the window and looked out into the cool, blue-tinted night. A few scattered lights, a blank billboard glowing in the distance, Downtown Detroit out of sight. That’s why he liked this place. It was such a pleasant September night that he even thought about going out for a drive later, after Beryl had gone. He hadn’t had a chance to sort out his thoughts just yet, but he was sure he’d seen her face in his dreams again as he’d slept. Some odd sensation was paining him since he awoke, like a pebble in his shoe. 

He left the window briefly and returned to his bedroom to fetch a shirt from the wardrobe-- black charmeuse, the finest one he owned. He didn't quite understand why he felt the need to wear it, the last time it had been worn it was paired with a dinner jacket to see De Hidalgo and Caruso at the Metropolitan Opera. It was still in good condition.

He watched the car pull up in front of his house. The headlights flickered off. Beryl's shiny combat boots stepped silently over the gravel, her slim legs bare, but her arms covered by the sleeves of a loose blue knit dress. The long black hair was less messy than usual, parted and cascading down to the small of her back. She cradled a flat package in a paper sleeve-- his records, of course-- close against her chest. To Adam's surprise, she didn't instantly send out the accustomed whistle, but lingered outside for a moment, resting against the hood. Beryl looked up, scanning the exterior of the house window by window until, unexpectedly, she spotted a sharp, pale face looking back at her from behind the curtains. Did she always do that? Or did she assume he would be watching out for her tonight?

A smirk surfaced on her lips. Adam nodded languidly as if to confirm that he had seen her and retreated into the room.

As Beryl stood outside she saw all of the lights in Adam's house turn on at once, as if he had installed a master switch. Very cool. All three stories of the old Victorian contained an excess of instruments and sound equipment. She figured it would have been more convenient to have set it up so that one story was a studio and the others living quarters, but then again, why bother trying to understand Adam. A vampire, for chrissake. It'd been a strange four days full of wavering periods of denial and acceptance, but seeing his face again really helped put her at ease. When he appeared at the front door, the black silhouette and the visual of blue eyes peering through grungy hair was so familiar that it seemed nothing had changed.

"All four you asked for. The exact recordings," she assured in the living room while handing him the records one by one. "It took some digging around, but that's what the internet's for."

"Marvelous," he replied, carefully inspecting each cover. "Truly. Thank you, Beryl."

Adam removed the vinyl disks from their individual sleeves and spun each one in his hands, the light reflecting off the grooves. 

"I used to own this one," he said holding up a record that hadn't been too hard to find. "Lost it during the move to this house. Usually not a big fan of dance music."

"Adam, it's a waltz."

"The waltz is a dance. Not one that you'd know, I suppose. Do people still dance it?"

"Some do. Not the hottest trend anymore,” she said holding back a smile. 

"Did you recognize it?"

"No, I didn't."

"You will."

He popped it onto the turntable and dropped the needle delicately. Violin strings flooded the atmosphere. She had definitely heard the tune before. A carnival song. Yes, she was sure she'd heard it at fairgrounds when she was a kid. A cheery little melody, but it made her feel a bit ill.

"Yeah, I've heard it."

"Juventino Rosas, eighteen eighty-eight. Mexican composer. Died when he was very young." 

He watched it spin around, lost in nostalgic reverie. 

"Eve and I danced to this damn near every Saturday for about a year back when we lived in Mexico City. That was when they were obsessed with trying to be European. Such a shame. But at least the music was brilliant.”

They sat listening to the record on Adam's couch, he with his head thrown back over the headrest, staring at the wallpaper, and Beryl holding her knees close to her body. The little scar from when she'd cut herself in the rose bushes had all but disappeared. When the song finished, Adam stood up and reset it so that it would play again. The expression on his face was indecipherable to Beryl.

"Did you know him?"

"I did." He drew in a breath. "Were it not for his stubbornness, he'd still be alive today."

She wondered if Adam meant what she thought he meant. She hadn't bothered to ask the last night she saw him whether vampires really did have the ability to turn others, though he assured her more than once that it was not common for one to attack a human and it was in fact considered shameful behavior. She glanced over at an antique clock sitting next to the table lamp, something Adam must have noticed since he quietly uttered "I'll be right back" and exited the room.

Taking money from him was easier sometimes more than others. When he would only say something like "Very good. Thanks.” and then ignore her, she was happy to take it and be on her way. When he was a bit outgoing, even borderline friendly, not so much. 

She didn’t notice how long he was gone for, but when Adam walked back into the room, something about him was visibly different. He carried himself more upright and took long, self-assured strides. Beryl observed this out of the corner of her eye while distracted by something she could have sworn was not there before-- a framed picture of a younger Adam in a far corner of the room. No, not younger, she remembered. When she turned to look at him, the exact face from the picture looked back at her. She was taken aback by the brightness in his demeanor, the hint of scarlet on his lips. He had just fed.

“Well, thank you so very much,” he said, not caring to count out the bills before placing them in her hand. Even the usual dreariness of his voice had faded. Beryl found it difficult to make eye contact with Adam as he listed the things he’d like for her to find. She was transfixed by the elegant hands that reached up to rub the back of his neck as he spoke. They didn’t seem rough or calloused as a musician’s should be and she wrung her own hands self-consciously and nervously, trying to take a mental note of what he was saying. Of course, he would write her an e-mail listing everything later, but it was only courteous to listen. Something about an amp. She turned her gaze back toward the picture, surrounded by so many others that it took a few seconds to spot it again. Beautifully lit. Adam seated with his head propped up against his wrist, eyes so clear and full of wonder. 

“What are you wearing there—in that picture?” The words slipped out impolitely.

Adam was thrown off by the interruption, but quickly found himself looking in the same direction as Beryl.

“It’s a Norfolk jacket.”

“A what?”

“Something rich English guys used to wear to go hunting. Then just for fashion. Don’t worry about it.”

She grinned broadly at the thought of Adam in the countryside, out in the light of day, cavorting with friends.

“And is that fancy shirt for fashion also?”

He looked down and tugged at the shiny fabric clinging to his torso with a hint of embarrassment.

“I don’t know, Eve buys me all this shit. She says I look good in it.”

Beryl glanced over Adam carelessly, eyes running up the buttons of the shirt to the open collar, a stretch of white skin brought to a halt by the shadowy stubble growing along his jaw line. He did look good. 

“Haha, sorry, Adam. Anyway, thanks, I’m gonna go…”

“I still have that somewhere,” he mumbled under his breath, still staring at the photo. “Beau Brummell gave me that jacket, the insufferable twat.” Beryl spat out a chuckle at the expression.

“Who was he?”

“Some dandy wanker they let run loose all over London.” He stood for a moment recounting the conventions of London society of the Regency as if it had only happened last season, with the casualness of a teenager describing high school cliques, Beryl thought with amusement. As for Adam, he was so immersed in his episode of reminiscence that it took him a long while to come to terms with the reason why he was rambling. Being around Beryl without the pretense of passing for human had stirred him—it was like old times. The fresh blood had only roused him more, and suddenly human interaction didn’t seem like a necessary evil. He pointed out a different picture on the wall, one that also hadn’t been there before.  
“I just figured since you already know, I might as well bring the good ones out. Gives me something to do when I don’t seem to be getting anywhere with a song.”

In truth, he had been on edge since Beryl had run her hand up his arm a few days before. Zombie skin, so foreign after many years without contact. It was a nervous energy that he couldn’t sublimate into music, so he occupied himself with needless projects, coordinating the lights into one switch, buffing and polishing the finish on his guitars, rummaging through drawers full of old framed photographs and finding places for them on the walls. Maybe if he wore himself out with meaningless tasks, he would sleep through the day without a single dream. Just maybe.

Beryl searched out all of the new pictures quickly, asking about the ones that piqued her interest. There were a couple of Adam within small groups of dapper men, but mainly they were portraits, shot with the care of an artist who is in love with his model. But there was one that stood out, a snapshot in black and white of Adam sat at an upright piano.

“Woah… look at that thing,” Beryl exclaimed, dropping her voice to a whisper and stepping forward to take a closer look at the instrument.

“It’s an August Forster. The old boy plays like a charm.”

“You still have it?”

“Yes. It’s set up in my bedroom.”

“I never tried it. Well, I did, but not seriously. I mean, I don’t know how to play.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, you’d think I would, huh? I still love the idea of it.” She looked at the picture with a look of deep longing.

“Would you like to see it?” he asked. Before Beryl had a chance to respond, Adam had turned his back to her and walked out into the corridor. Was he serious?

“Adam, are you sure...” the sentence drifted off as she followed after him. He stood holding the door to his bedroom open and signaled his hand for her to enter. She did so hesitantly, dragging her feet into the large room, as cluttered as the rest of the house, but somehow more organized. Books in neatly stacked piles on the floor, worn wooden furniture, two different patterned carpets, an old television with channel knobs. She glanced over at the bed where the imprint of Adam’s body still lingered in the dark sheets before directing her vision to the piano on the far wall. Adam walked past her to sit at the bench. He lifted the fallboard off the keys. “Any requests?” he asked dryly.

“Play something of yours,” Beryl responded, looming over his shoulders. She heard him draw in a deep breath. 

“Well. This is a dirge from a few years ago.” 

The tips of Adam's fingers weighed down heavily on the keys as he played the funeral song, somber frequencies resonating from the walls. She allowed her body to sink down into the edge of the bed behind Adam and watched the subtle movements ripple across his back as he played. What an extraordinary talent, so deserving of immortality. As the music slowed, she felt her spine begin to unravel until her head fell against the sheets and she lay staring at the ceiling, listening to the wonderful sounds.

There she was, on Adams bed, being lulled into a trance. She was about to close her eyes when it crossed her mind again: _Adam is a vampire_. The affirmation caused her to suddenly jolt up with fearful alertness, only to find Adam still sitting with his back to her although he had stopped playing. "Would you like to try?" he mumbled.

Beryl stood up from the bed impulsively and began to fiddle with the rings on her fingers. "I told you I can't play," she replied meekly.

"Give it a try." 

They traded places, Beryl sitting on the bench and Adam standing behind her. His hands fell over hers as soon as she touched the keys and guided them into position, the warmth from the blood still present in his palms. She did her best to concentrate on the instrument.

"I designed this to be a simple sequence," he spoke next to her ear. "Just follow."

Adam couldn't remember the last time he'd been this close to a zombie but as he instructed Beryl, he could feel the troubling feeling return like the sharp sting of a wasp. Long tresses of hair fell over her face as she looked down to check her placement and he swept them away with both hands, running them through to the ends. She made several mistakes, and each time Adam whispered a gentle encouragement.

“Damn. Sorry.” 

“It's fine. You're a natural, obviously. But you won't learn to play from me, you need someone to berate you."

"And you can't do that?" 

"Not to you."

Another slip of the fingers and she dropped her head down onto the keys making a loud clang and laughed. "You shouldn't have gone before me. I got too self-conscious." She noticed Adam's mouth twitch as if he wanted to say something. 

Instead, he courteously grabbed her hand as she rose to stand and looked into her eyes. It was a knowing look, not in any way menacing, but completely devastating. 

"Well, thank you anyway, Adam. That was nice of you.” 

“Not at all.”

“No, no. Seriously, thanks for that. I can just see myself out if—“

"I will see you out."

They walked silently out of the bedroom with him following behind her until they reached the front door. The calm intensity of Adam's gaze did not decrease as they went along and Beryl could almost feel it piercing into to skin of her back. She ran down the stairs quickly and crossed the front lawn with swift, light steps as if she were being chased. By the time she got to the car she was in a tizzy, thinking of Adam's hands moving across the piano keys, the lingering feeling of his fingers through her hair and his breath on her ear. She had lain in his bed. She was about to turn to wave a goodbye when Adam called out after her.

"Beryl."

"Yeah?"

"Those things I told you about earlier, I want them by tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"If possible. Please."

"I'll see what I can do."

She let the engine idle for a few seconds after Adam had locked his door and sat wondering at what point two people cease to be strangers.


	5. Chapter 5

"He was a bastard. A beautiful, brilliant bastard. But then he went off to Greece and I never saw him again," Adam said, concluding his anecdote. 

"And you called him by his first name?"

"George, yeah. Was I meant to call him anything else?"

"Lord Byron."

"Fuck that.”

Beryl laughed into her hand, not so much at the expression, but at Adam's exasperated eye-rolling.

 

They’d been sitting at the table playing the same game of chess for nearly two hours, moving pieces in between long stretches of speech. She’d arrived at the house later than usual after a long drive to Cleveland to retrieve the last thing Adam had asked for, a 1960 Gretsch Country Gentleman, something she couldn’t resist strumming in the backseat before driving back. She’d gone that far just to make sure it made it to Adam by that evening, like he’d requested the previous night. When she got there, beaming with pride at the quality of the guitar she’d been able to find, he simply took it off her hands, placed it aside, and step through the threshold of his front door without inviting her in.

“Look,” he said, dead serious. Beryl turned to see Adam looking up at the clear night sky. He was staring directly at the faint red circle floating above the city lights.

“It’s an eclipse,” she remarked.

Adam stood fixed. “It’s a blood moon.” He walked down the steps into the driveway and Beryl felt a chill pass through her body as Adam contemplated the sight, silent and still. His thin black silhouette appeared death-like in the cold wind. A blood moon, he’d said. What was happening? Was there something she didn’t know about?

“Does—does it mean anything?” she asked timidly. 

Adam remained quiet for a few long seconds before turning his heel on the gravel.  
“It means the Earth’s casting a shadow. I’m just fucking with you.”

 

Before agreeing to a game of chess, they sat on the steps outside looking out into the quiet blue darkness while Adam recounted a brief history of astronomy. The tension had shattered around them like crystal as soon as he made his deadpan joke, and they settled into a rhythm of questions and answers, speaking as if the night were young. It was in fact already after midnight when they sat down for their game in the living room.

“Am I keeping you from something?”

“Nah. What else would I be doing now?”

“Sleeping?”

“Adam, I played gig after gig for months, I think I can handle staying past my bedtime.”

“Ah. Well. That should have been obvious to me. Sorry.”

As they sat across from one another, Beryl couldn’t help but note Adam’s immaculate appearance, the way he seemed to have groomed himself into someone presentable. He was fully dressed in his customary black, wearing polished boots, and clean shaven. More than prepared to receive a guest. 

On the other hand, Adam was charmed by Beryl’s temporary unkemptness. She’d clearly been out all day while he lay in his bed, sleepless. Her blue jeans were torn in some places and tight against her legs and her sweatshirt was much too loose, a honey-colored shoulder peeking through the open neckline. Her makeup had smeared slightly along her heavy lashes but the features of her face still seemed gentle and feminine, the rounded cheekbones, the full lips. Only the sound of his own voice permitted him to clear his thoughts. If only she would listen to his stories all night, so that he may have her company and nothing more.

“Did you ever play for Byron and friends?” she asked.

“Hardly. The most I ever played was during our summer in Geneva because they wanted to hear old Baroque songs. It was an interesting crowd to say the least.” He moved a bishop. “Well, except this one fellow.”

“Go on.”

Adam looked up at her and leaned back in his chair languidly, taking in a deep breath.  
“George used to drag around this boy with him everywhere he went, early twenties like you.”

“You don't know how old I am,” Beryl interrupted. He ignored her and continued.

“He was his personal physician or so he claimed. Polidori, that was his name, he was from an Italian family. Handsome, but dull. He stared at me constantly and always drifted out whenever I entered the room, but then again, I think maybe he was afraid of me. Perhaps letting him in on it wasn't the wisest decision. Anyway, I found out later that he had got it in his head that I tried to seduce one of his sisters back in London. So one night when we were entertaining one another by telling stories, he made up one about an immortal creature in the guise of a young Lord who preyed on young women. I had to sit through that whole goddamn thing.”

“Huh.”

“What's worse is that he put pen to paper and had it published. But only because everyone thought it was something new of Byron's.”

A look of confusion emerged on Beryl’s face. “But if he knew that you were a vampire, why would he have been worried about that at all?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, maybe this sounds stupid, but can you even do that?”

“Can I…?”

“Nevermind. Don’t answer that.”

Adam sunk further into his chair, crossing his arms and splaying out his legs as he tossed around the question in his mind. He looked straight into Beryl’s eyes with a stony expression until an eyebrow quirked. He leaned forward again, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Do you mean can a vampire have sex with a zombie?”

“Well can you?” she asked with a bit of embarrassment. She dared not tear her eyes away from the board. 

“It's not the same, if that's the actual question. Vampires... we touch, we kiss... but we take pleasure in each other's energy for the most part. From aesthetic beauty as well." He paused for a moment to observe Beryl cautiously move a pawn. "But I was a zombie once too, you know. I still have to live with this body, whether I make use of all its functions or not."

She smirked slightly at Adam speaking so frankly, not seeming to recognize the awkwardness of the conversation. “So I guess he should have been worried,” she replied flippantly. 

“Sure. I mean, I did sleep with his sister, after all. Not that he would have known.”

Beryl’s girlish laughter echoed through the room. She laughed until winded with a kind of pure glee that Adam found delightfully strange. He always seemed to amuse her for some reason. But when the silence returned, it was unnerving. 

“Wait, wait-- weren't you married by then?”

Adam squirmed uncomfortably in his seat.

“Yes,” he affirmed, perfectly aware of what would be coming next.

“Well, that's seriously fucked up.”

“It happens.”

“You don't think it's fucked up to cheat on your wife?” she asked with an agitated pitch in her voice. He sensed an instant antagonism.

“Listen. You don't have to feign some sort of moral superiority all of a sudden. I am faithful and loyal to Eve. I love her. It doesn't change the fact that eternity's a long fucking time.”

“Man, no one forced you to marry her.”

“No, you don't understand. It's not as if I purposely looked to be with other women, I don’t much care for most people if you haven’t noticed. It's just that there have been certain times in which I became close to someone without trying. Very exceptional individuals. Besides, I told Eve about every one of them eventually, we don't usually keep things from one another for very long.”

“So she is fine with it?”

“She understood. About those women at least.” Adam paused and stared up into the ceiling as if deciding whether or not to go on. He sighed deeply. “There’s one I’ve kept from her.”

Beryl straightened her spine. “Well don't leave me hanging.”

“Her sister, Ava. It’s one thing to become involved with a zombie, they lose interest, their life spans are so short that there is no chance at all of any lasting affection. But another vampire… I will always regret that one. After that happened, I couldn't stand the thought of being with anyone but my wife.”

She looked at him with renewed sympathy despite still being bothered by the thought of him with these women. It wasn’t really that she was concerned for the state of his marriage, so why did it bother her? She tried her hand at another sly remark. “Sounds like you're fucking everyone's sister.”

Adam took the comment for what it was, a quick joke, and huffed out a sarcastic chuckle before returning his attention to the game. After a brief but tense lull, she asked another question.

“So you’ll never do it again huh?”

It was more blunt than she had intended it to be and Adam could tell by the expression in her shimmering black eyes that she had cringed upon asking it. He looked straight back at her almost defiantly before waving a hand in the air as if to shrug off the question. Who knows. None of your business. Why do you care.

The conversation was abandoned and left hanging. A few minutes later, to Beryl’s relief, Adam slid his bishop into a checkmate. 

“Sorry about that.”

“You're not even a little bit sorry.” She smiled, stood up, and fixed the collar of her sweatshirt so that both shoulders were evenly displayed. She stretched her body in front of him, baring the slightest sliver of skin from her stomach and blinked her eyes as if to wake herself up, then began making her way to the couch were her jacket lay.

“Well, what shall we do now? Music?” Adam asked impulsively. 

She stopped in her tracks and smiled back at him. “What, are you gonna let me play the Country Gent?”

Only half an eye-roll from him this time. “Don’t press your luck. Anyway, I thought you’d moved on to piano.”

“Ugghh like hell I have. Hey, did you know Chet Atkins?”

“Don’t change the subject. You’d be fantastically good if you gave it an honest try.”

“Whatever you say.”

“I can hear it from anywhere in the house, just so you know. I’ll be right back,” he said walking away from her.

“What am I even supposed to play?”

“Play Fur Elise.”

“I can't play that!” she hollered after him.

“Everyone can play bloody Fur Elise! Just keep to the theme!” Adam called back, raising his voice higher than a drab monotone around Beryl for the first time. 

She played with incredible prudence, careful to hit every key, and Adam heard her from the ground floor. As he drank the cold red liquid, he realized he was rather angry with himself for having kept her around. He drank double the usual amount without satisfaction, although his body became warm and lively. And he thought about her upstairs in his bedroom, how delicate her hands had looked over the keys the night before and how abnormally shy she had seemed tonight. At least he’d been careful not to touch her again.

Once in his bedroom, he sat on the edge of the bed facing away from her and listened to all of the beautiful imperfections. _Damn_ , she would say to herself. _Fuck’s sake_. Curious about her disgruntlement, he moved to stand behind her to observe her technique, but found himself unable to focus. Feeding had made him more responsive to sound, his senses had taken over his reasoning. He could hear so much more than the music; he could hear, so very clearly, Beryl’s heart beating wildly inside her ribcage, working restlessly to run blood into the rest of her body. 

Adam’s hand fell against her bare chest, just above the low neckline. His fingers fanned out with ease over the smooth skin right above the pounding heartbeat. Beryl held her breath.

“Easy. Calm down.” It was unclear whether he was speaking to her or directly to her heart. “It’s all right.”

The heavy hand drifted away and a sudden serenity washed over Beryl when she took her next breath. Her eyes closed as she played, the muscle memory carrying her through the song which only seemed to slow despite her efforts to pick up the pace. She knew that Adam had dropped to his knees behind her when his nose brushed against the nape of her neck. When she felt what could be none other than his lips touch her skin, she stopped playing abruptly.

“Is something wrong?” he whispered. 

“What are you doing?”

His hands abandoned their grip on the edge of the bench and smoothed down Beryl’s arms until he held her gently by both wrists.

“I’m answering your question.”

They stood together, Beryl turning to him and nearly stumbling over the bench as their bodies crashed and locked in an embrace. There was a flutter in her chest, right under the warm imprint of where his hand had been, and she gasped when Adam’s lips touched hers. She clutched onto the fabric covering his back as she felt the iron taste of blood on her tongue.

He kissed her hard. He felt every bit of frustration, that irksome feeling that had been keeping him awake, dissipate into her mouth. Aware of her lingering reluctance, he began to trace the seam of her lips with persuasion, rapidly awakening a response that caused her to return the kiss eagerly. 

Their mouths did not part until they found themselves on Adam’s bed; he broke the kiss to brush back Beryl’s hair with his fingers as she landed softly over him. All parts of her body touched Adam’s beneath her and she began to feel a hardness growing against her thigh as she trailed her lips along his pale neck. He seemed so human now, a creature of warm blood, but his eyes gave him away, the evidence of his desire in the bright, dilated pupils, revealing a kind of unbridled lust that was burning from the inside. 

He managed to restrain himself as he helped her undress, their fingers moving in unison over her clothing, bunching and unclasping, pushing the garments down the smooth curve of her hips until every inch of her skin was exposed. He’d had a dream like this, with Beryl undressing without ceremony, but the reality of it was absolutely divine. She seemed to be the only source of light in the dim bedroom and Adam sat up to invite her unto his lap so that he may touch her, truly touch her, for the first time. He longed for her at his very core, ever since the first time he had come in contact with her flesh and he had sensed something from her. An unreadable message that made him loose track of time and work himself into a frenzy. With each touch he came closer to unraveling it until it became clear that the longing was requited. Listening to her heart, that was what did it.

She unbuttoned his shirt and unbuckled his belt, sliding the leather out of the loops while Adam held her close, kissing her more passionately than before. Her fevered skin begged him, pleaded with him go on, although only small moans and whimpers escaped her mouth. Having heard enough, Adam guided her onto her back and crawled on top of her, greedily kissing her again as if to punish her for leading him to this; the fate of being so enraptured by the touch of a human.

Beryl arched her back off the mattress desperately, wanting to come closer to him, and watched through hazy sight as Adam lowered his head to her breasts, cupping the soft mounds in his hands before taking turns licking smoothly around each nipple. She couldn’t bear to speak to him, only making sounds in response to his ministrations, but fell entirely silent when his face came close to hers again, their breaths mingling in shallows pants. Adam snaked a hand between them, dragging it down her heated body, and freed his arousal from its confines. Beryl was motionless for a long while, indulging in the feeling of the solid flesh pressing against her abdomen and gazing into Adam’s eyes with a faltering look of disbelief. Then, without a word, she shifted her hips up towards him allowing him to press into her slowly, painfully. She could see by his behavior that this was nothing more than another aspect of human sex to him, and she wondered if he could fathom the extent to which she had become lost in pleasure, yielding more and more to him with every thrust. Every part of her had been awakened by him. He must know, she thought. He must remember how this feels. She closed her eyes again and felt the softness of the sheets vanish as sweat dripped from her pores.


	6. Chapter 6

The room was cold. It was the shivering that literally shook her awake, her hands felt like solid ice and her skin was stippled with goosebumps. She pulled the covers up to her chin and wrapped them tight around herself, leaving Adam exposed, his unblemished skin a shade of pale blue in the lightless room. She continued to look at him until her eyes adjusted to the dark and she could see his body more clearly, the way a forearm draped across his abdomen, and how the shadows fell deep in the hollows of his cheeks. She had tried nestling against Adam, but found his body frigid as a marble statue. That was what he looked like, a work of art, distant and beautiful as if he were encased in glass. No trace of the human heat she’d felt while in his arms only hours ago. She looked at him only long enough to deter the desire to reach out for him again in the same way he had after the first time they made love and she was sure he’d fallen asleep. He’d taken hold of her by surprise just as her eyes closed, and pressed his body flush over hers so that she was unable to move, but gently eased his grasp as she willing opened herself up to him again. Unlike the rushed intensity of their first tryst, the second had been measured and tame in a way that Beryl found remarkably romantic to the point that it surpassed any type of derision. It was irresistible. His lips brushed against her neck as he breathlessly recited fragments of poetry, passionate words she was certain were not his own, but at the moment seemed to be. _I arise from dreams of thee; In the first sweet sleep of night; When the winds are breathing low; And the stars are shining bright._ He’d pushed inside with steady force and her hips intuitively jolted forward whenever he retreated, wanting him to press deep into her once more.  
With that thought in her mind, she slipped back into a pleasant slumber.

Adam also woke up trembling, but not from the cold. It was another nightmare, just like the one that had caused him to seek comfort in Beryl’s body a second time. He turned to see that she was sleeping peacefully next to him, her lovely face with painted eyelids peeking out from under the covers, and he felt the need to recoil, wanting to keep his anguish away from her. He tried to fill his mind with thoughts about what they had done, how soft and delicate her body had felt writhing beneath him, but he could think of nothing put his own terrible fatigue. It had almost anchored him to the bed, the ache in his chest. He stepped out onto the floor struggling and making small moans. Still nude, he searched for his trousers with hasty precision in the darkness, buckling his belt cautiously so as not to stir Beryl. She was so very beautiful, but for some reason he simply couldn’t stand to look at her. He was fading away. Blood, he needed blood. Yes, that was it. 

A single bare light bulb lit the basement nook were Adam kept his supply in storage. It hung just above his head as he locked the icebox, having already set aside two servings for immediate consumption. He downed the first quickly and braced both hands on the edge of the table wondering what had gotten into him, why he wasn’t upstairs leaving trails of kisses along that beautiful girl’s neck and shoulders as she slept. _Good God, what a night that was._

He wouldn’t have heard it had it not been for the fresh blood. She was standing quietly at the bottom of the stairs, wearing nothing but a black shirt that made it just barely past her hips-- his shirt. The cuffs covered her hands as she raised them to stifle a yawn.

"Hi."

Despite the welcomed visual, he found himself annoyed with her for having followed him and felt and urge to scold her on previously agreed upon boundaries and the right to privacy, but the irony of doing so after having slept with her only made him clench his jaw and take another drink. Oh, what did it matter anyway.  
The material of the shirt was sheer and clung to her. He could see outline of her figure, all of the dips and curves he had discovered on display. Although he could tell she was still half-asleep, her eyes were vivid as ever, full of sincerity.

“Hi, Beryl. Aren't you cold?”

“Yeah. Very.”

“Come here.”

She blinked several times to try to wake herself up as she shuffled over to him and fell into a hug that encircled her waist. With some effort on Adam’s part, she was swiftly lifted from the floor and sat atop a work bench, her feet dangling on either side of him. She saw him well now, and noticed how sunken his eyes looked and how lacking in grace he was. The beauty and refinement that made him extraordinary was deeply hidden behind a veil of distress. With a weak but good-humored smile, she reached out to touch his upper arm as if to comfort him. 

“No offense, Adam, but you look like shit.”

“I feel like shit.”

At that moment her shoulders fell and her head tilted downward, closely mimicking Adam’s pitiable appearance. 

“So… I… is it because—“

“Oh, no, absolutely not. No, it’s not because I feel bad about it. Certainly not.”

“Okay. Good.” 

As shaky as his response was, almost comically so, it seemed honest. Beryl reached out to hold his free hand and lazily rotated the gold band on his finger as Adam’s appearance improved in front of her. Ultimately she couldn’t resist jumping back onto her feet and wrapping her arms around him from behind to draw in some of his new warmth. She clung to him with her cheek pressed between his shoulder blades as he took his last drink. The act was so simple and yet so affectionate that it startled Adam momentarily.  
He slammed the glass down and shook Beryl out of her daze. Only then did she remember something she’d been meaning to ask. 

“Adam?”

“Yeah,” he responded flatly.

“I was just wondering, what happens if you run out of blood?”

It felt like a stupid question, she felt stupid asking it. But Adam was a real vampire, not a creature of myth, she couldn’t possibly assume anything and the longer she was around him, the more she was intrigued by his implausible existence. If she hadn’t known already that something about him was beyond the ordinary, making love to him had set it in stone. She studied the crimson tint of his lips as he constructed a lethargic response. 

“Well. We are in principle undying beings. That is our nature. The lack of blood will not kill us, but honestly, I often feel it is a fate worse than death. If we don’t have human blood, we begin to ingest our own blood and we simply deteriorate in every way. Physically and mentally. Bad blood will poison us. You see, it’s madness from hunger or poisoning that causes vampires to attack zombies, just trying to avoid what they know will happen. It’s a bit difficult to explain… if you don’t get enough blood you enter a hallucinatory state, like a living hell. They’ll nail you inside a coffin while you’re screaming from the inside. So many have gone that way.”

Beryl gulped. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked. Maybe she shouldn’t have come down the stairs when she noticed the light glowing and interfered with his privacy. But she just wanted to be near him, in a short time she had become intimately drawn to him. It was no longer curiosity, but serious involvement, and sometime during the night (or maybe it was already day) she had decided that she needed to know this. She found the answer both saddening and satisfying. At least she was beginning to understand Adam’s profound melancholy, and more than that, she had learned one important fact: vampires where indeed immortal. Carrying the weight of his words, she looked up to express her feelings of sympathy. Adam spoke before she could. 

“But I won’t go that way,” he stated confidently and turned his back to walk up the steps. 

*

They found their way to the living room, but the usual sitting spots were abandoned in favor of leisure. Beryl lay sprawled across the couch with her legs draped over Adam’s lap and arms crossed behind her head. He had given her his robe to keep warm but he stayed shirtless, his ivory skin luminous under the light of the candelabra resting on the table.

Beryl felt a little discouraged at Adam’s sudden return to quietness, and the fact that he had refused her request to tell her another story about one of his famous dead friends, something he’d done so spiritedly the day before. He silently scribbled something in the margins of an open book of sheet music and occasionally stroked his neck and lips with a feather-light touch as if he were thinking of memories from long ago that couldn’t be spoken. It was clear that his bodily state had improved since waking but he still seemed lost, only interested in things unrelated to himself or to the present. 

“Play me a record you like, then.”

Adam sighed. “Any record?”

“Yeah, whatever you like.”

He closed the book, suddenly interested in his companion again. “Do you know much about Opera?”

“Not really, but I like listening to it.”

“Oh, then you definitely have to listen to this,” he said with all of the excitement he could muster out of his voice. He dug through a disorderly shelf bolted to the wall, near to where he had hung the picture of himself in the hunting jacket, and eventually located the dusty vinyl. “I love this recording… Birgit Nilsson is the lead. She was fun.” What he held up was a copy of Richard Strauss’ _Salome_ , the cardboard faded and torn somewhat at the edges. Beryl recognized the cover art immediately. 

“Ooooh, Gustave Moreau. Nice.”

Adam flipped the album and gazed down at the picture intensely. “Yes. You know Moreau?”

“I know a lot about artists. I used to paint when I was younger… did some etchings and engravings, that sort of thing.”

He paused for a moment to contemplate what she had just said. 

“Is that how you knew about _À rebours_?”

“Uhm yeah.”

“Interesting.”

“Interesting why? Don’t act so surprised.”

“I’m not.”

He was, in fact, quite surprised, but not at Beryl’s knowledge of the nineteenth-century symbolist. She had told him something about herself. It hadn’t occurred to him before that when they spoke it was really only he that spoke, but it was true.  
He shook it off and returned his attention to the record. 

The music played, loud and clear, quiet and humming, until the world extended only as far as the sound could reach. They sat beside each other enveloped by the sound and focused on it as it flooded the surroundings with its sonorous voices and unusual key changes. Beryl didn’t notice when it was that her and Adam began holding hands, whether he’d reached out to her or she to him. It didn’t matter, it felt like a natural impulse, a reaction to the passionate charge of the music. They inched closer, seeking each other out intuitively until her face was cradled at the nape of his neck and her tranquil breath grazed his collarbone. Soon she was tracing a line down the muscles of his bare stomach in sync with the drawn-out sound of a string. She opened her eyes to see Adam still as he had been when he slept next to her; only the soft tapping of a forefinger against his knee as he meditated over the song served as evidence of him being awake and alert. 

Yet he remained passive as Beryl’s fingers fluttered over the inseam of his jeans, up along his thigh until they reached between his legs. She caressed lightly at first, wondering if Adam could feel anything at all, and then ventured into more dexterous movements. Gripping him firmly in her hand, she raked the tips of her fingers around the contours and awaited his response. 

“Nothing?” she inquired dejectedly.

Adam moved, snatched her hand by the wrist and brought it up to his mouth to kiss, opening the palm and pressing moistened lips on every fingertip. 

“It’s more voluntary than you are probably used to,” he explained almost apologetically, and yet a strange boldness was marked in his eyes. 

“And you’re not in any mood?”

“Maybe I just need so inspiration. A muse.” 

Nerve. Excitement. Once again he felt these foreign emotions that made the music around him intensify.  
She slithered down before him until her knees touched the carpeted floor. Adam watched as the cheek that had been touching his neck brushed against the black denim. She did this tenderly but with gentle pressure, like a cat against its owner. When she parted her lips to engulf the area with kisses he felt her humid breath through the fabric and reached down to clasp one hand around the back of her head. Sensing that she was doing right, Beryl gripped the metal pull of his zipper between her teeth and slid it downward until it was fully open. She paused to allow Adam to unbutton himself, which he did without delay.

He couldn’t recall having done this before, although he must have. Maybe in his youth, before he married, before time stood still. This time it wouldn’t be like it had been in bed, with him leading the way. They were connected now – in harmony with one another, for better or worse. He allowed the blood to rise from within him, no use in resisting.

When she first took him, he inadvertently rubbed up against the roof of her mouth, causing a low groan to escape from both. He found it was agreeable enough, the damp heat, the sweeping of the tongue, the pausing to breath. What he took the most pleasure in was the sight of those dark eyes looking back at him.

“You enjoy this, don’t you,” he asked rhetorically. 

As if to silence him, she swallowed smoothly, until he had sunk fully into her throat. Ignited by her lust, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and gently pulled her off him, guiding her by the arm to straddle his lap. He removed his own clothing from her frame and let it drop to the floor, finding the body underneath fully prepared for him and aching for his attention. 

The seductive music swelled, but Beryl’s face alone held his attention as they made love. Eyes watering, mouth open, errant strands of hair clinging to her brow. It gave him deep satisfaction to know that he was responsible for putting this look on her face, and wondered how he must look to her. He stroked both hands down her back and pressed down on her thighs to bring her closer, which she resolved wrapping her arms behind his neck.  
“You’re divine,” he whispered into her ear as she kissed him. 

 

***

 

"Get some food and running water in this place and maybe I'll stick around a bit longer next time," Beryl said smiling against his mouth as he kissed her goodbye.

"Tomorrow."

"Okay."

He opened the door for her and she was taken aback by the chill in the air. The Midwestern winter was settling in early.  
She hummed a tune from the record on the drive home.  
It wasn’t until she was looking for the keys to her apartment in her coat pocket that she realized Adam had not asked for her to bring him anything, just to return.


	7. Chapter 7

“Stay very still,” he told her.

She did her best not to shiver when she first felt the cold liquid touch her. It dripped red onto the curve of her back and pooled along the base of her spine, warmed by her flesh. 

A brief moment of stillness, only the record player spinning, and then there was the sensation of Adam’s tongue flat against her skin. He did this again and again, lapping the blood off her body completely before drawing close to her face to place a kiss behind her ear, then her lips. She’d grown accustomed to the metallic taste ever-present in his mouth quite quickly, it nearly seemed natural. 

The intimacy, that was what Beryl loved about it. It was just her and Adam apart from the ugly world, nothing but the sound of strings and heavy breathing. After a few times, she didn’t question it at all when he requested something from her. _Stay still. Face me. On your back. Keep your eyes closed._

This time he had gotten into feeding from her body, just over the surface, so that he may taste the blood on her skin. It was a dangerous game, she was aware, but the excitement surmounted the risk. Adam made her feel safe; despite his otherwise vacant personality, as a lover he was attentive and impassioned, capable of both grand gestures and subtle signs of affection. He knelt before her to remove her clothes, trailed his nose and lips in between her breasts as she exhaled, gripped the underside of her thighs firmly but not enough to bruise. In the midst of this, when the rhythm was sure and gentle, he spoke lines of poetry from memory as if he were reciting prayers. He was aggressive at times. Mostly very giving. She faded into him and he into her.

There was much to admire in Adam physically, of course. When he lay sprawled over the covers, Beryl could admit to herself that she was perfectly content to just look at him, to daydream about veins running down his forearm and the deep V shape cut into the muscle of his hips. He would obscure his face with a pillow and look like a fragment from an ancient Greek sculpture fallen from its pedestal; the eternal youth. And just when she had build him up to the height of perfection in her head, without fail he would open his eyes, reach out and pull her into his chest. 

She’d listen to the beating heart and become conscious of the real reason why she was falling for him. The sex, the music, the beauty of it all… that was superfluous. Adam was a vampire. He was a creature that defied time itself, a sort of demigod walking in the world. She didn't need to romanticize him, his life was romantic. Downplay it as she might, she was fascinated by Adam’s mere being. His reality was dark, but his mind was brilliant-- the memories, the wealth of knowledge-- the genius that could never be replicated and would never need to be. She had never dreamed of anything quite like this, of being so in awe of someone she could reach out and touch. She loved the sound of his voice and the gentle frown of his lips that only went away when he remembered a time when 'life was really lived'. She even loved when he left the bed to play something in another room and the distant music trembled in her ears. She loved that he was alive.

It was barely a scrape, just the small, sharp sensation of Adam’s teeth on her lower back, either playful or accidental. What would have alarmed Beryl a few days ago now caused her amusement. She turned her face to him with a coy grin. 

“Is that supposed to scare me?”

“Does it?”

She shrugged. 

"Well, no, it wasn't meant to scare you.”

He pushed himself away from the bed as Beryl dropped her head unto the pillow again. She watched him with one eye, followed the lines of his body as he snaked his shoulders and lowered himself to her side. The shadowy veil hiding his eyes retreated back into the dark and his wild, dilated pupils burned bright. Adam’s hand clasped the underside of her chin so she would not look away. 

“Do you like to be scared?” he asked earnestly. Beryl looked into his eyes willingly, but felt her body turn cold. She didn’t register the question, only the way Adam’s face suddenly seemed unfamiliar. He ran his fingertips along her jaw with a feathery touch. 

“Do you like to be bitten?" 

No sooner had the question left Adam’s lips than they pulled back into a snarl, baring white teeth. The upper canines had descended into fangs.

Beryl looked at him with bewilderment, running through the sensations of fear and awe simultaneously. They gleamed, curved and pointed, sharp enough to tear into flesh. She tried to choke out words in the midst of panic, but right before her eyes Adam’s fangs disappeared and the possessed look in his eyes began to fade. It had happened quickly enough to convince oneself that it had not happened at all. She continued to stare at him frozen in suspense as his face set into a small self-satisfied smirk. 

Adam rolled unto his back and looked out towards the window. Tonight they had drawn back the curtains so that the moon cast a beam of blue light into the room and unto their bare skin. Stunned as she was, Beryl drew near him and took comfort in his calmness. The beating of his heart had gone from a ferocious pounding to a nearly inaudible pulse that echoed in his ribcage. She listened to it nestled against his chest.

“Oh my God…” she finally said in a whisper. It was unreal, but it was clear what she had seen. She quickly accepted the fact that it didn’t trouble her at all. Beryl knew him, knew what he was capable of. That was enough. 

Adam pulled her in closer and placed a kiss on her forehead. She looked all but angelic as her eyelashes fluttered in response to his attention.   
“Trust is a wonderful thing,” he said with a sigh. 

 

***

 

“You realize he was never permitted to continue his research. No funds, no support from anyone. Now look at it, his invention is a sideshow. Cabinet of curiosities shit.”

Beryl sucked her teeth at him. As enchanting as Adam could be, he always seemed to be in some sullen, petulant mood whenever they left the bedroom. She ignored him as she watched a video demonstrating the technology behind singing Tesla coils showing clips of high-frequency transformers being used at concerts and festivals. He and Beryl had spend a good part of the late night in the cluttered sound proof studio, the outcome of a promise to let her try instruments other than the piano. When she had had enough of trial and error, she slumped unto his lap and began fiddling with an iPad Adam “had gotten” recently. She knew it was from Eve, it didn’t matter. But it was fine if he didn’t want to acknowledge it. 

“I’ve seen these in person. Bjork uses them in a song,” she told him.

“Even genius has limitations.”

_You should have said that to Tesla_ , she thought to herself, but decided to close the tab and change the subject. “Would you ever go to a concert with me?”

“I don’t really care to go out very much.”

“It’d be fun. I’d show you a good time.” She winked at him as she slid down unto the sofa cushions and continued tapping and scrolling. 

“How long are you going to stare at that bright little screen for, Beryl?”

“What? Oh, I could do this shit all day. It’s just curiosity—this is how I learn things. E.g., did you know Franz Liszt once threw away an old cigar stump in the street and an obsessed fan of his picked it out of the gutter and had it encased in a locket with the monogram ‘F.L.’ in diamonds?”

“Did you learn that on Wikipedia?”

“No, from my tutor before father deemed me fit for boarding school,” she quipped at Adam’s expense and threw her head back laughing at her own joke. Adam exhaled and shook his head. 

“Anyone do that for you, eh? Anyone ask for a lock of your hair?”

“Oh, shut up,” he said smiling. 

*

When dawn began to break and Adam seemed drained even after multiple feedings, Beryl retrieved her boots from the floor by the foot of the bed and laced them up tight. Maybe she would have breakfast and run some errands downtown before heading home. There were no mirrors around the house for her to fix her hair and makeup, but it would have to do. As usual, she could hear Adam strumming away in the living room. That was his ritual before bed and he did not like to be disturbed, so it was a perfect time to go. When she stood up she remembered that she had left her purse on a chair by the chess table.

Beryl’s head was already filled with thoughts on what she would do with the rest of the morning and was about to kiss Adam goodbye when she picked up her purse and noticed something strange. 

“What the fuck is this?" she asked holding up the neatly folded cash. Five hundred dollars. That was what he usually gave her. 

“What the fuck is this?” she repeated.

Adam was taken aback by the expression carved upon her face, a scowl of confusion. He looked at her hand without blinking and scrambled to offer a quick explanation. 

"For your time.”

"What is that suppose to mean? I didn't do anything-- I didn't do anything for you, Adam," she raised her voice. 

“Fine then, it's a gift.”

It was clear what he meant. Beryl could almost not detect her anger beneath the swelling feeling of disgust.

“Then, here. Have it back.”

He didn’t take it. The shock of refusal only made him defensive. 

“Why can't you simply accept it? Stop acting like you don't need it, what else is going to provide you with the kind of money I...”

“I can provide for myself-- I can, I never,” she began to stammer in frustration. Every syllable she spoke hit hard. “I never agreed to anything like this, Adam. I'm supposed to fetch you things, you're supposed to pay me. That's how this works! I'm not some fucking zombie whore that comes around whenever you're bored!"

He didn't reply.

Beryl felt her face turning red and she knew Adam could also see that the rage was making her eyes water. He’d quickly gone from nearly insulting her to looking shamefaced as if he’d realized what he had done. 

“We're friends, aren't we? I thought we were.”

Adam said nothing. 

She tossed the money to the floor and turned towards the stairs.

 

The sun was just above the horizon and Beryl knew Adam would not be following after her. Instead of getting into her car she stomped the gravel on the driveway with her fists clenched until she managed to calm down enough to sit and have a cigarette on the stoop. The sunlight touched the Earth and she closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth and light and the smoke in the air. The longer she sat there, the more she regretted her reaction. It wasn’t that what Adam had done was sensible, but maybe he didn’t know any better. Perhaps he did see it as just a gift, a ‘thank you’ for caring about him. Her short temper had never been one of her favorite qualities.   
She groaned as she stood up and put out the cigarette on her boot heel. 

Beryl could see him hunched over the sofa, half empty glass in hand. Adam was motionless and silent, she was certain he hadn’t heard her come back into the house.  
“Listen,” he said still with his back to her. “I’m sorry. I've asked you come over several times now without you bringing anything, I suppose I only wanted to reassure you that you're not wasting your time just visiting me.”

“Wasting my time? No, how could you think that? You know, I spend time with you because I like to, not because you pay me to. I'm certainly not fucking you because you pay me to.”

“I didn't mean to offend you in any way.”

“I know,” she said. “I know. I’ve just never had anyone try to help me like you do. I mean, don’t want to get too comfortable with it. I like working for you, but now… I don’t know. Things are different between us now, right?”

“Yes, of course, we’re friends,” Adam replied, answering her earlier question. “I feel terrible about it, I shouldn’t have just assumed that you came here for money. But at the same time, I want you to be taken care of. I want you to have time and resources to create and to think and wonder. You’re brilliant, you deserve that.”  
Beryl felt her face grow warm again, this time from flattery. It meant so much to her whenever Adam pointed out her talent or complimented her ingenuity, more than any remark he made on her beauty when they were in each other’s arms. She crossed the room to sit next to him. As soon as their eyes met so did their lips and they held each other closely until all was forgiven. 

“Come on,” he said standing up. He walked to the turntable and played the record already in place. Carla Thomas’ sweet voice followed by Otis Redding’s. Adam extended his hand to her.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am serious.” 

She’d asked him to dance before half-jokingly on the supposition that Adam still was the great dancer he claimed to have once been. She gave into it, rested her head against his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his back. He took the lead swiftly and swayed their bodies in unison, much to Beryl’s delight. The steady movements sped up and soon they were moving effortlessly, breaking off and then getting close again with the tempo of the song. She could feel that irresistible pure energy from him again, the depth of their shared emotions and the blissful sincerity which they’d developed from being alone together. In her heart she wanted nothing more than for this feeling to last. 

“You still owe me,” Beryl spoke into his ear. “You’re going to take me out.”


	8. Chapter 8

Adam stuck a hand inside his jacket and pulled out the silver flask he had brought with him. Beryl watched him wrap his fingers around it and gulp down some of its contents from the corner of her eye as they walked in unison under the street lamps and past small clusters of people chatting and smoking outside. They’d parked a bit ways off where Adam believed his beloved white Jaguar would be safe, but she didn’t mind. She liked the city at night and so did he; he’d confessed to often going on long walks alone whenever the atmosphere of his dreary home began to feel oppressive and the songs started repeating themselves. The streets had a green tint to them this time of night, the air felt icy and dry, sirens and car horns were going off, as usual. But around them was still the hum of humans, people Beryl smiled graciously at, unafraid of the swarm. Some even seemed to know her. Every now and then Adam looked one in the eye from behind his dark shades and saw nothing of worth. The public, how repulsive. 

“Do you think anyone in there knew who I was? I fear they might’ve.”

“Quit being paranoid. No one knows what you look like.”

“Right.”

“You could at least pretend like you’re enjoying yourself.”

“I am, I am. Good company. The music was better than expected. Mediocre, derivative, but it could be worse.”

She looked up at him, caught a glimpse of his eyes through the wayfarer lenses and grinned.

"Well, no one’s as good as you, Adam. You should have played. You'd have looked real sexy up there."

"Please."

"No, for real, can you imagine? You on stage, under the spotlight, dressed in all black. Maybe in your shiny shirt. White guitar. You should have brought William Lawes with you!"

"William is only for special occasions. Otherwise he stays in his case."

"Seriously, who names a guitar after a man?"

"It’s all about energy. The instrument tells me its name when I touch it."

“And where’s your energy? You look damn near death.”

“Just tired.”

“Oh, ok, I understand you’re not used to being around people. I used to come out here every night, going to different clubs to play. I kind of miss doing shows, honestly.”

“Hmmm why ever would you?”

“Isn’t that the whole point of music, though? It’s a performance art, it’s made for an audience.”

“That’s not the point of music at all. You’ll learn in time.”

She didn’t like his tone, it was patronizing. But rather than making another point and running the risk of ranting or sounding silly, Beryl huffed out a sigh and held tighter to his hand until she could feel the hard metal of his wedding band through the leather glove.

They started walking through a stretch of pavement that was unlit; the streetlights on the block were mostly burned out. They were just off an avenue, not far from the bustle and nightlife, but the city had a tendency to do that, to go from lively and bright, to suspiciously bleak in mere seconds. Cars drove by, blaring their radios, not slowing down for stop signs. The final leaves of the season rustled above and floated down to the ground, gracefully. Graffiti covered mailboxes and old payphones. Toward the end of the street they approached a warehouse that had been abandoned for what seemed like decades but was probably not so long ago. Parts of the building had begun to collapse and crumble into shards of glass and debris on the ground, eerie relics from where industry once thrived. 

“Like the ruins of Rome,” Adam remarked, looking up at the broken windows. 

“Is it?”

"I once went on the Grand Tour with Will Beckford's party. We went straight through the continent down to the Gulf of Naples, wherever we'd go, there were these grand structures, abandoned, reclaimed by the wilderness. It was a sad and beautiful sight, to see the remainders of a civilization lost to time, an era come to an end."  


"And you're comparing that to Detroit?"

"Certainly, it was on my mind when I first saw this city."

"But this isn't a city lost to time, people still live here. A lot of people."

"It is at its tragic end, believe me. The monuments are now skeletons. The natives have scattered. _Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, the lone and level sands stretch far away_.”

It was customary by now that when Adam spoke Beryl looked at him with wonderment, with her full attention, hanging on to every word. It was very easy to do so, Adam was a compelling speaker, someone who always brought depth and poignancy to casual conversations, as if he’d taken the time carefully compose his sentences. But she stood with her hands in the pockets of her tartan jacket, shifting uncomfortably, not making eye contact as if to shield the serious look on her face. 

“Did you want to say something?” 

“Yes. I know you’ve lived here longer than I have, but you’re sounding like the worst kind of tourist right now. The kind of person that takes pictures of the homeless and tries to pass it off as art, or someone who goes ‘urban exploring’ in deserted buildings when their boots are probably worth more than the property. The savage versus the sophisticated, wow, what an original concept! Forget the fact that someone is genuinely suffering.  
Where I come from it’s a lot of the same, cold winters and ghetto, so I know what it’s like to not know if things will ever get better, but I also know what makes a city like this great. It’s the people, it’s the will to carry on as usual. You get the privilege to watch it from a distance, to talk about how ‘beautiful’ it is. It’s easy to romanticize something when you haven’t lived through it, isn’t it? I’ve never seen the Coliseum or walked through Herculaneum, but I can’t imagine it being anything like this. We’re not talking about long ago and far away, we’re talking about here and now. Detroit is still great, whether anyone’s nostalgia-hungry mind wants it to be or not. It set a high standard for itself, and if people like you, people with money, really loved this place then you would be interested in helping to restore it, not just in being entertained by the theater of poverty. The decay isn’t what’s beautiful, it’s the fact that the spirit of the city is as alive as it ever was—that’s where the beauty is.”

Beryl took a deep breath. Her cold face felt like it was burning from the inside.

Adam had taken a step away from her as she spoke, their former closeness making the near distance seem like a chasm. They resumed walking side by side slowly and quietly to the end of the block.

“Wow,” she heard him say grimly. “I didn’t realize you felt that way about me.”

“It’s nothing personal, really. Some things just get to me. Sorry.”

Despite the quick apology, they neared their destination still in tense silence. Beryl exhaled loudly. They were having a decent night out, why was she ruining it? Or was Adam the one ruining it? How frustrating not to know. How exhausting to have to justify her own emotions and opinions to herself.

“Adam, can we stop somewhere before getting the car?”

“Where exactly?”

She tilted her chin forward. “Right there.”

Straight before them a gas station illuminated the surrounding streets with its fluorescent lights. Beryl picked up her pace, walking fast toward the brightness. Adam followed hesitantly, the distance slowly growing between them as she went ahead, her legs silhouetted against the white light. She was heading for the entrance to the station’s convenience store. 

She swung her head around, her long hair along with it. “C’mon!”

“I’d rather not,” he replied, stopping to lean against a post.

“Fine. Wait for me out here then, okay?”

“Yeah.”

The short-reaching glow of the gas station store seemed to draw in creatures like a lamp attracting moths. Adam watched, with disdain, a group of teenagers loudly loitering, swearing, and howling with wild laughter. No reason to be there, nothing else to do. He stared vacantly and read the signs posted outside.  
ATM inside. $6.95 Marlboro Reds. We accept EBT. 

From that distance he could see clearly through the storefront glass, Beryl’s red jacket moving down the aisle toward the register and suddenly stopping. The young man behind the counter seemed to recognize her and reacted with surprise. He was an exceptional looking fellow, at least as tall as himself, Adam figured. His smile was broad, his eyes were kind, and he wore a white Detroit Pistons t-shirt in contrast with his dark skin. The man opened his arms and Beryl fell into a hug, just barely reaching over the counter to cradle her head against his shoulder. Adam took a step forward. Then another. Soon enough he was close enough to hear them talking, conversing like old friends. 

“Sweetheart, where have you been? I missed seeing that pretty face. Where’s your guitar?”

“I have a job now. I don’t have to come out here and show for a dollar.”

“That’s good.”

“What are you up to?”

She jumped up to sit on the corner of the counter and handed over cash to pay for a cup of coffee she’d filled. She took a cautious sip.

“Same old, same old.”

“You still firefighting?”

“Of course. Those guys need as much help as they can get, fires break out every damn day. It’s mostly arson too, I’m telling you. The police haven’t got enough money to investigate it, but these son of bitches set fire to their own places for insurance money and kids light up all sorts of shit for fun.”

“Unbelievable.”

“Believe me.”

Adam listened for a long while, the volume of their voices in his head drowned out the noise from the teenagers and the cars passing by. Yes, he heard them, but as an unintelligible cacophony of amiability and laughter. And there was an odd sensation coming from within him, like swallowing a burning cinder. Another nonsensical human emotion, long-forgotten. Jealousy. 

The door alarm chimed and both Beryl and the young clerk whipped their heads toward the sound to find Adam’s shady figure crossed-armed by the door frame. Beryl gave him a weak smile. 

“I gotta go.” She said politely to man. “I won’t be away for so long though; I’ll see you again soon.”

“Hey, don’t let me interfere in your night out. Be good, alright?”

“Promise.”

“Bye, precious.”

“Bye-bye!” she called back as Adam held the door.

The clerk looked at the dark, mysterious man.

“Have a good evening, sir.”

Adam stared him down for a moment and without saying a word walked out the door.

 

There was a sudden rush of chill wind and Beryl zipped up her jacket again before crossing her arms across her chest.

“You took your time.” Adam said to her with bitterness. 

“He’s a friend.”

“A close friend from the looks of it.”

“Oh whatever, that’s just Steph. He’s the guy that works the night shift on the weekends, I used to buy coffee from him every night in between shows. You get to talking after a while, you get to know each other, you become friends.”

“He’s attracted to you.”

“So what?” She snapped at him. 

“Just a warning. Don’t lead strange men on.”

“Thanks,” she replied sarcastically, wondering if Adam noticed the irony in what he had said.

“I cannot understand how you’re so willing to immerse yourself in this environment. I don’t think it’s wise for you to be in these parts alone. With these people. Where are you living now, exactly?”

“It’s none of your business where I live. No one in this city but me knows where you live. I respect your privacy, you should respect mine. And don’t tell me where I can or cannot be or who I should hang around, that’s none of your business either.”

“No need to bite with so much venom, it doesn’t suit you.”

“The only reason you’re concerned with my safety is because you don’t know the world, Adam. You live in isolation. You think the worst of everyone.”

“I didn’t ask for the world to change the way it has, for humanity to turn its back on purposeful living, to replace the instinct to create with destruction. You perceive me as elitist, fine. But I’ve seen mankind go from the pinnacle of enlightenment—culture, science, technology all in the palm of your hands, but too cowardly to take advantage of it. I don’t wish to associate with zombies going on with their meaningless lives, watching the world crawl to its death.” 

“Maybe you should teach us the old ways, then; a gentleman’s guide to life. I’ve been reading up on where you come from, you know. A great empire ruled by slave-owners and opium addicts, but I’m sure you were very _enlightened_.”

“You think you’re better off now?”

“Probably not, but I don’t think it’s any worse. I think you’re the one who’s afraid to step out and experience things. You’re afraid to live in a world in which you and your little group of friends are no longer the taste-makers, afraid to acknowledge that there are other brilliant minds. You chose to close yourself off. You don’t know anything anymore.”

Adam clenched his jaw.

“No. I don’t choose to live the way I do. I’m not a hermit, I’m a fucking vampire." He was almost unable to speak, his voice cracked. "Even during times in which I walked the world, I was a shadow to someone else. Much like I am a shadow to you at this very moment. You want to tell me that humanity is living out its potential, I suppose I should believe you. But you’re right, I don’t know anymore. Because I’m a monster who lives in hiding. I’m a secret for you to keep. Yes, I chose to be what I am a long time ago because I believed it was the right thing to do. I don’t know anymore.”

Beryl stood still as he turned his back to her and walked out into the dark again, miserable and wounded. She suddenly felt petty, like she’d been cut down. To hear Adam speak his truth shattered something in her and her sympathy for him spilled over. For once the things he spoke of were not idealistic, but grounded in reality. She watched him as he took another drink of blood and thought about what he had said, how he was nothing but a shadow. She wondered again why he had chosen her, what had drawn him in that night at the bar when they'd first met. He was a shadow to her as he had been to others in his lifetime-- Handel, Keats, Rossetti and all those he claimed in his stories. But his life had gone on and theirs hadn’t. He had spent decades wandering the earth alone and now she was his only confidant, his only link to a species that had become foreign to him. 

She walked in haste to catch up to Adam until he stopped and acknowledged her.

“You know what, forget all this bullshit, let’s just enjoy the rest of the night. I dragged you out here, we really shouldn’t be doing this.”

He removed his sunglasses and ran his fingers across his face, contemplating and unconvinced. 

“Adam, I wouldn’t want to live in a world without you in it. I used to listen to you all the time just sitting by myself, you’re pretty much the reason I play music. If you had lived life the way you were supposed to, the way all people do, I would have never heard you play, I would have never met you. I don’t understand what it’s like to be you, but I do know how it feels to be alone. It means a lot to me that you’re here.”

Adam sighed and without saying anything reached out to grab Beryl’s hand. He slowly brought it up to his lips, placed a soft kiss on it, and led her along to continue their walk. It was a relief to purge the hostility, to be at peace once again, holding hands, united. She pressed the side of her face against his shoulder and he wrapped an arm around her waist. 

“Hey, it’s your turn to choose, right? So where are you taking me?” she asked. 

“We’re very fortunate, actually. Someone I quite like a lot is gracing us with her presence. Her name is Yasmine, she’s a singer. You’ll like her too.”

“Sounds good to me.”

They made it to a street that was well lit and lined with closed shops. Adam had parked halfway down the block under a tree that still retained some of its green. Another couple walked past them, their arms linked together. When the man caught sight of Adam’s white Jag, he stopped dead in his tracks. 

“Vintage! Nice ride, man!”

His girlfriend tugged him along, but he kept glancing back at it longingly. Adam opened the door for Beryl and rounded the front of the car to the driver’s seat.  


“I didn’t realize this car was considered vintage,” he said as he buckled his seat belt.

“Well, it is from 1989.”

“That wasn’t long ago.”

“Maybe not to you, you old goat.”

Adam smirked as the dashboard flashed its lights and the engine roared out of its slumber.


	9. Chapter 9

The venue was standing room only, but they didn’t stand with the crowd. Adam and Beryl watched the band from the mezzanine, he with his legs stretched and she sitting comfortably on his lap cross-legged and with an arm around his neck, opportune positioning for pulling him in for a kiss whenever she felt like one. She loved the way he kissed her, so full of passion, clasping both hands around her head and trailing fingertips down the nape of her neck. He held her like she was the most fragile thing, at least when she wanted him to. The taste of blood was sweet and welcome; she pressed her lips as tightly as she could against his without causing hers to swell. The voices and movements around them didn’t matter, the people walked past, they made their way toward the railing to be closer to the music, but she was caught in Adam’s net, unwilling to struggle. No stroke of midnight, nothing to tell time or to distract them from their embrace until shouts of ‘encore’ came from the audience. The music kept playing.  
“Let’s make it home sometime before sunrise, yes?” Adam said finally. “I promised to go out with you once more, now this is the fourth time this week.”

“Okay. I think I’m gonna reply my lipstick first, though.”

“As you wish. I’ll wait for you by the door.”

She disappeared quite literally into a cloud smoke, and Adam waited for her. He waited patiently. And then not so patiently. A girl with a shock of blue hair walked past, looked him up and down and made eye contact with him. She fluttered her eyelashes. He turned his face. A crowd of zombies rushed through the door, some not nearly old enough to be in this establishment, and shoved him to the side hastily. He threw his head back and tried to meditate. That’s what Eve had told him to do, to be silent and strong, to find peace and not be concerned with trivial things. Adam waited, but soon anxiety started setting in and the large room felt small and the music sounded ominous. There was no more blood to drink tonight, only a great urgency for his bed.  
He was familiar enough with her scent now to find her, and the more he pushed through the masses, the closer he could sense her.

He spotted Beryl. She had his back to him, but it certainly was her, with her glossy, black pin-straight hair. She was walking away from him, seemingly floating along the perimeter of the crowed room until she almost disappeared again. When he finally approached her, she was talking to a man with rolled up sleeves, brown hair and a reddish beard. Adam tried his best to zero in on what they were saying, but the noise pollution distorted everything. Before he could reach her she ended the conversation and turned to find Adam standing in front of her.

“Adam!” she beamed. 

It was then he gave her a cutting stare unlike anything she’d ever seen; her heart skipped a beat. Fuck. Shouldn’t have done that.

He pulled her aside, grabbing her firmly by the shoulder until they found a dark nook right along the corridor that led into the restrooms. “You are much too careless with my name.”

“Shit, I’m sorry. Look, I was just talking to Sam, he works at the guitar shop. He helps me find stuff for you sometimes.”

“I do not care. Why do you make me look for you?”

“Jesus, it wasn’t that long.”

“Have you any manners?”

“I guess not.”

The back of Beryl’s head made a soft thud against the wall. This was an Adam she was used to seeing—annoyed, exasperated, demeaning. It was difficult to take him seriously at this point, just go with the motions, try not to upset him further, hope he would ignore the flippancy in her words. He looked quite worn out lately, more so than usual. She’d noticed the past few days how the lines of his cheekbones had sharpened and how colorless his skin had become, and yet he stayed up late into the day teaching her music and making love to her. In fact, their physical closeness had only increased, she’d began to guide him on how to touch her, what to say to her when she was in his grip. It surprised Beryl how quickly he’d learned, he now knew what she longed for, how and when to give it, almost effortlessly. Even tonight while sitting on his lap she’d become excited by the pressure a single strong hand on her back and began to contemplate on the night before, waking up next to Adam wearing nothing but the necklace with the little skull bead that she had stolen from him and looped around her neck. She was rarely fully dressed in his presence anymore, his need for her was ravenous and Beryl willfully gave in to his desire which often surpassed even her own. Her breath quickened whenever he came close to her, expecting the very next movement to be a gentle assault.

Adam’s eyes glistened in the shadowy nook, but as livid as his expression still appeared, Beryl understood it to be superficial. He wasn’t skilled at hiding his emotions, they showed through in their transparent layers, sorrow being the deepest and most consistent. He held on to it, masked it with frustration if necessary or indulged in sexual pleasures he had rediscovered through her, but they couldn’t do that now, of course. 

Beryl stroked the side of his face, cold to the touch. Adam closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, realizing that she was trying to ease him out of his anger. He returned the gesture, pushed her hair behind her ears and took in the serenity of her face, the heavy eyelids that made her look to be in a never-ending daydream. “I love your hands,” she sighed, and kissed the corner of his palm. As if following the melody of the muffled music, he slid his other hand up her thigh and past the hem of her black dress, the soft material crumpling but still covering his forearm. Beryl kept her face relaxed, not knowing how far he was going with this. Adam lowered his head to kiss her, an ordinary kiss between them, but extraordinarily exciting in these surroundings. It awakened an unexpected response from her; she grabbed his hand and held it in place as if to dare him to go all the way or quit toying with her. He tore the hand away and slipped it between her legs, finding the thin lace that separated them already damp. How carnal humans were, how like beasts, and yet how delicate the girl standing in front of him, so vulnerable. She began to shift forward, to grind into his hand, urging him to go on. But instead of pushing into her with his fingers like he knew she wanted him to, he only kissed her more deeply. She returned the kiss eagerly until she was out of breath and then he decided it was enough for now. 

"Let's go.”

"But you messed up my lipstick again,” she whined jokingly.

"I'll be waiting by the door. Please show up promptly this time."

"Very well," she lazily imitated his voice.

Beryl walked down the hall feeling dizzy with anticipation and flung the door to the ladies’ room carelessly. She dug through her pockets past paper receipts and hair ties until she found her burgundy lipstick and pouted at the mirror. She could vaguely make out what the girl on the opposite end of the room looked like from the corner of her eye; petite, blonde, a short pink dress and white tights. Beryl was surprised by how cutesy and pixie-like she looked compare to everyone else she'd seen there that night and glanced over at her. The girl turned her face away from the mirror and smiled, a kind of flirty expression that made Beryl impulsively return the look.

"Your boyfriend's cute," the girl remarked.

"Thanks."

"You know he has a wife, right?"

"I'm sorry?"

She capped her lipstick and looked back at the blonde. The girl stood with her shoulders shrugged innocently and her feet together, but the sweet smile marked on her face appeared false, disingenuous.

"I mean, you must know, that ring is practically fused to him. He didn't even take it off when he was on top of me."

She took notice of her hands. They were covered by dainty white gloves, holding a pair of cat-eye sunglasses.

"Ava?"

"Oh my god, you know who I am! I didn't know I was on Adam's mind that much. He told you about me, I feel honored!"

Beryl turned back to the mirror panic-stricken, ready to walk out in disbelief, only to be startled by what she saw. She seemed to be alone in the room, the girl had no reflection. Yes, _Ava_.

"Don't freak out, I just want to tell you something and then I'll go away."

She looked straight at her now, boldly, yet still uneasy.

"What could you have to say to me? You don't even know me."

"But you know _me_ ," Ava taunted with her babydoll voice.

Beryl marched a straight line toward the door, but Ava easily caught up to her and reached out to touch the nape of her neck, as Adam often did, making her recoil with fear. Beryl stared her down for a moment and realized how human her eyes looked, as if she'd only just fed. Ava's presence was unsettling, so prim and menacing like a spoiled little girl, but she spoke candidly as she looked into Beryl's eyes.

"Adam has one love. He is in love with only one person. That's it and that's all. Don't tell him you saw me."

She quirked the corner of her mouth, slid on the sunglasses and strolled out of the room. The door creaked shut behind her.

Frozen in place, Beryl held her breath for a moment.

 

*

 

“I began to have an idea for a composition, but I can no longer hear it. It’s overwhelming, this world of yours,” Adam said as they walk back out into the desolate parking lot. He spoke a bit more, but Beryl wasn’t listening. She felt a sort of phantom pain all over her body, like she was going to be sick.

“I think I’ll just walk home,” she said suddenly.

Her face looked different to Adam, the pleasantness had been stripped off and what lied beneath was an icy, disdainful demeanor. Why would she want to go her place when her car was still at his, when she’d clung to him all night and reveled in his every touch? She insisted on staying by his side whenever he dismissed her and wandered off whenever he needed her. He rolled his eyes. “What’s the problem now?”

"Ava's here."

"What?"

"Your wife's sister, Ava. She was in there. She saw me with you and came up to me in the ladies’ room."

"No."

"Yeah, it was her. She was just how you described her. What she said to me... listen, I just feel weird, okay? I want to go home. Not yours, mine."

"Fucking hell, why is she back in Detroit?” he said through his teeth, agitated. “Just to vex me, surely. The little trollop belongs six feet under."

"Are you even listening to me? What's the big deal, anyway? What do you have against her?"

"You don't know her, it's no business of yours. She has a way of slithering in like a snake to get what she wants, a remarkable talent only matched by the likes of Kitty Fisher."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You hardly ever do."

"You're such an ass."

"For fuck's sake, why are you doing this again?"

"Because you're always insulting me on the sly; you talk shit about Ava as if you weren't the one that chose to sleep with her. Oh no, you were helpless against her, that awful woman! I guess that's what I am too, just a fucking tramp, a fun little side piece.”  
"Don’t be foolish, you’re not like her."

"I hope you enjoyed the novelty, asshole," she spat out and walked fast ahead of him. He called out after her, tried his best to catch up, but she shook him off. "Listen to me, I can't do this now!" A hand grasped at Beryl, tugging forcefully at her sleeve, and with that there came a full stop in the argument. Adam slumped against her and she held her arms out just in time to prevent him from collapsing. His eyes went momentarily white. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed helplessly. "Adam, what’s going on?!" He came to again quickly, she was able to hold him up with his arm draped over her shoulder. Even though her knees began to tremble nervously, he felt impossibly light.

"It's alright," he said, trying to calm her. "I just need to get some rest. Please..."

"I'll drive you home."

She helped him to the passenger’s seat of his car, doing as much as she could to sit him upright while he did his best to summon the strength to support himself. Adam sat with his head thrown backward lifelessly, his sunglasses still firmly in place. On the drive, Beryl occasionally glanced at him with great concern, only to see him unchanged, his pale body seemingly frozen in place. The sight put pure terror in her stomach. More than once she whispered "Adam?" only to have him respond again, "I'm fine, dammit. Eyes on the road." The streets seemed darker than usual, not even the neon lights reflecting on the rain puddles could brighten them.

“I’ve always wanted to drive this thing.” She said, trying to ignore the situation.

“Wish fulfilled,” Adam groaned.

 

*

 

“No. Leave me here. Go home.” Adam crawled unto his bed and dropped to his side as if a weight had come down on him. Beryl jumped off the bed as soon as he spoke the words, leaving him curled up and clutching at the sheets and pillows for comfort. She didn’t want to disobey, but she was reluctant to leave his side.

“Are you sure?” 

“I’m sure.”

“Let me take off your boots first.”

She untied the laces, pulled the boots from his feet carefully, and placed them on the old Persian rug that covered the floor. She wanted to climb back on the bed, hold him in her arms and listen to his soft breathing until the sun set again.  
“I wish you would tell me what’s wrong. I hate leaving you here,” she told him. “I could stay nearby, just wait in the studio until you woke up, but I know you don’t want me to.” Adam didn’t reply. Beryl looked down at him and watched as he slowly fell into a deep sleep. She stood long enough to see his eyelids begin to twitch and flutter, a sign of a vivid dream. The sound of thunder in the distance reminded her that is was time to go.


	10. Chapter 10

“I see you’ve been playing doctor again,” she said to the grainy image on the screen. Adam stared blankly at her, but still she felt as if they were face to face, his eyes always had a sort of depth to them that even a vague expression seemed intimate. “Yeah,” he replied before pushing down the surgical mask that covered his mouth.  


For several days she’d been waiting to hear from him, only finding comfort in the little sounds and messages that let her know _Adam is online, Adam is offline_. When the request for a video chat popped up, she nearly dropped her laptop trying to set it up on her bedroom desk. It was difficult to tell with only the candelabra illuminating him, but he looked better than he had in weeks, well rested and fed, but more importantly he gave a purposeful impression, idleness shaken off. It had been driving her crazy not seeing Adam, but she was timid with her words as they spoke, just happy to see him, and perhaps afraid to stir up an argument again. He proved to be quite good at keeping her at bay; Beryl didn’t even dare to ask if she could come over, and patiently waited for an invitation that by the end of the conversation still had not come.

“I’ve been working on something,” he told her.

“Is it a masterpiece?" 

"It could be the best thing I've ever done.”

Beryl smiled at him miserably. Of course she was glad to see Adam doing well, glad to hear of him working, going out to buy fresh blood and taking care of himself. But she was excluded from it, as if getting rid of her was a natural improvement. She tried to shrug off the negative thoughts, but they were swarming within her without intent to stop. So she remained in this cruel, unusual state of introversion for lack of knowing what to say.

“I’m going back out. Just for a drive.” 

“Right now?”

“Has to be before the dawn.”

“Right.”

He disappeared from the frame suddenly leaving her to stare at the disarranged living room and didn’t return.

She paced around the apartment aimlessly, walking past her newest guitar and glancing at the four others arranged neatly against the wall, all shiny and beautiful, all bought with Adam’s money. There was nothing to do, nothing to agonize over now that he had spoken to her, and yet her stomach was still in knots. She pulled a towel hanging from her bedroom door and went into the shower. A tiny pair of pointy gray ears stuck out from inside the bathtub and then their owner prop himself up on his paws to greet Beryl. She’d found Rembrandt one morning after moving into the new place. The sweet, green-eyed cat had taken shelter under her car on a rainy day and crawled out when she came near him. He sat by her feet and rolled to his side completely unafraid of the strange girl. No collar on him, must have been a runaway, but she’d taken him in and given him a home. 

“Come on Remy, you little beast,” she said picking it him up. The cat whined. “Why are you always in the tub when I want to use it, huh? Have you any manners?” It occurred to her that she repeated things she’d heard Adam say regularly; it was such a silly habit, but a consequence of his influence on her. He’d taught her a few of his songs and playing them herself made it feel as if he were there with her more so than simply playing the mp3s. She’d done a lot of it the past few days and the melodies still hummed in her head. 

Rembrandt hid quietly behind the wastebasket so as to not get kicked out of the room altogether while Beryl undressed. The steam from the hot shower soon clouded the room and the water poured down on Beryl, wetting her hair and warming her skin. It rushed down her body in gentle streams, down her stomach and to her knees, deflecting from her shoulders and back. It felt like a veil, like an exoskeleton to shield her from the world which momentarily had turned into an unfathomable fog. Even the rushing sound of water could not suppress the ghostly drone of Adam’s songs.

She finished her shower feeling no better than before. She dried and brushed her hair methodically sitting on her bed, wet skin slowly becoming colder. The cat darted from his hiding place in the bathroom past her feet to claim his place under the bed, where he usually slept until it was time to make trouble again in the early morning. Beryl hadn’t noticed when Remy had developed this routine since her nights were so often spent at Adam’s house. She contemplated on how different a living space that was from the one she’d carved out for herself. The apartment was still mostly empty, mismatched pieces of furniture and scattered crates occupied the floor. The only thing hanging on the wall was an old framed painting she had found discarded on the sidewalk. It looked incredibly out of place, so ornate and baroque compared to its sparse surroundings, but Beryl enjoyed looking at it, that charming picture of a doe-eyed lute player gazing back at her, one hand over the strings. It looked, she thought, like something Adam would have on his wall, if there were any empty spaces left.

She crawled into bed still nude with damp strands of hair sticking to her face and chest and lay silently, meaning to close her eyes but instead staring out at nothing, shifting them from side to side as if she were searching for something in the half-dark. 

She thought of Adam again. She thought about what she must look like to him, what she must feel like. Whether he was truly impressed by her beauty and her human warmth as he said he was or whether it was just a suitable substitute for now, being that he was alone, that he needed someone to take up his never-ending time, that she happened to be there on the night they met and that she was stupid enough to follow him. He who is so special making her feel special. She didn’t know him—not like other women had, certainly. But it was enough that she knew his art, that dazzling thing which he contributed to the world, that only certain people could fully understand the true brilliance of. It was enough that he kissed her neck and pressed his body against hers in a way that could convince her that his was the only body that mattered and that she had no need for anyone else. She could forget anything, give up anything, to have the privilege to touch him, to listen to his snide remarks, to comfort him, to fight and make up, to drift into sleep listening to his stories, to love him with anxiety that doesn’t go away. This is what all men do, all of them.

To hell with it. It was a delusion. He wasn’t fucking special. 

Beryl got out of bed and dressed herself. There was something quite good, quite useful, that she had gotten out of being with Adam. Boxes of books were stacked in the corner of her bedroom, some of them torn at the edges thanks to the cat’s handiwork, but all of them filled with hardcover editions, names in small print running along the spine. After hearing her bemoan never having had the chance to read classics or novels or poetry, Adam began to curate a reading list for Beryl, whose keen interest in the books quick got out of hand. She would take them by the dozen and work on several of them at once, reading whenever there was a minute of downtime, feeling that she was slowly becoming less ignorant. About of a third of the ones in the boxes were finished, but they’d not been organized in any way. She knelt down and started rummaging through them, looking for the next candidate: _Robinson Crusoe… Death in Venice… Fathers and Sons…_ no, none of them ready to be read yet. Then suddenly, _Lyrical Ballads_. The book was old and its binding was falling apart, some of the pages just about to come loose. A small card, like a bookmark, stuck out from the top. She opened it to the marked page and was met with an inky, faded scribble: _Per your request, my dearest love. A. 1913._

Beryl set the book down gently on the hardwood floor, only the card remained in her hand. On the reverse side was a picture, a portrait of a man. She looked at it intensely; turned it over and over, reading the text, contemplating on the face. The familiar face, the same one she had seen resting on a pillow next to hers only the week before; the writing, as flat and fluid as the voice that accompanied it. Adam. 1913. 

She wanted desperately to forget about it and return it to the century-old hiding place that had kept it so intact, where it’d been tucked away by the person it was intended for, his dearest love. She imagined it being torn to shreds, set aflame with a cigarette lighter, but instead she held on to it, did not let it fall. Beryl longed for feelings or revulsion or even apathy, but didn’t know to do anything but admire it, allow it to invade her thoughts and repeat the truth to her once again.  


She continued to look with silent awe until stinging tears swelled her eyes. 

 

 

............................................................................

 

 

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=34rb1ub)


	11. Chapter 11

The first time he ever learned of this part of the world was as an adolescent reading a pamphlet on the North American fur trade. The ships would dock in London carrying their animal skins and other treasures from the New World and he would sometimes watch them make their way down the glistening Thames in the late afternoon before being due back home. 

Now this was home, this land surrounded by lakes. He watched the houses pass one by one from his car window as he drove. The hollow shells with overgrown gardens looked every bit as lovely as the ones filled with lights and voices. He thought of England so little now that his memories were segmented into neat little scenes, not following a clear order and not seeming to exist in logical time, though they were at one time a reality. He much preferred to think of later years, of his great friends and great adventures, but recently he’d been inspired to contemplate the distant past. It was his entanglement with Beryl that did it, the past existed in the present when she was around. Suddenly he was young man, lying in his bed, thinking impure thoughts about girls and worrying that even as he grew in height that he was still out of his depth. Suddenly he could hear the crumpling of the grass beneath his feet as he walked across the estate; dewy blades that looked as bright green as anything could be in the light of the sun, which touched everything, even his hands and face. He remembered the neighing of horses, smell of incense on his clothes after Sunday Mass, the taste of wine in the afternoon. And he felt a sense of calm as time kept passing, that life was full of surprises and tragedies and the wonderful new experiences of growing older and wiser. 

He felt like a man, born from a woman and destined to experience death either by nature or misfortune. A human. A mortal. That is how he had come into this world, and that is how it seemed when he was with Beryl. She was a soul full of an unbridled lust for life.

And because of her he began to recover the pleasures he’d lost long ago, because she unleashed from him that most basic emotion that makes a man a man—desire. It felt so natural to long for someone, to experience the sensation of flesh sliding against flesh again as if it were new to him. What heaven it was to feel her soft, small body under his and hear the beating of her heart quicken. To watch the tension escape from her face as she fell breathless was compensation for a great conquest, and the physical and emotional exhaustion that came with it was bliss.

He felt this so deeply that at first he blamed himself for the nightmares. They would come to him as soon as he closed his eyes, so readily that he began to fear sleep although he spent most of his waking hours desperately tired. He had always suffered from nightmares, but they grew more and more frequent and seemed to be never-ending. Memories plagued him and he endured terrible visions of things past. He could feel his body burning from the inside, feel close to death and then back suddenly, hear cacophonies of sounds which haunted him mercilessly. And he took this to be simply a personal low point, a symptom of something he had inflicted upon himself. Perhaps it was, as Eve often said, his “self-obsession”. So he lived in quiet agony while Beryl frolicked around him and he drank blood carelessly as he never had before.

Inevitably, he discovered the origin of his suffering. Living as a recluse had made it easy to forget one of his many abilities: clairvoyance. It was partly empathetic or intuitive, but mainly the type of psychometric power claimed by many con artists looking to scam the gullible. It worked on both living thing and objects and had grown stronger with time, so that he could detect hidden emotions and histories on instinct. The readings were unclear, however. Frustratingly enough, he fell just short; not strong enough yet.

But he knew there was something wrong with her, something truly wrong. She presented the guise of someone vulnerable, sincere, so honest with her emotions. She was clearly apt at making friends in this manner, talking and flirting and charming others as she had charmed him. She constantly expressed her love of people and her curiosity about lives different from her own. What was her life, anyway? Who was she? He’d had no interest in knowing until she started to ruin him. There was no use in having an attachment to her, she was expendable, like all humans, but he had allowed her claws to dig in. She was drowning in misery and pulling him along into the depths.

Yet he returned to her again and again, grabbing at her in search of relief. The fixation was like that which he’d seen so many times from great, talented individuals torn down by addiction. Being with her was the only thing that gave him a respite from the trouble that she caused. And so the nightmares continued. The mere thought of them made his hands shake on the steering wheel and he gripped it harder, thankful for the red light ahead. He sighed at the certainty of his drive being cut short.  
How could anyone live in such a way? Is that what zombies did, exist with this veneer of false happiness, paint over their pathetic lives with the illusion of joy? Beryl was bright and beautiful and caring, but she was deceitful at her core. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so sickened by another person, ever running through the gamut of emotions with someone like this, and he supposed he had experienced nearly everything in life. Things with her had been as good an as bad as they could possibly be. That was it, that was all there was and ever would be, what was the use of thinking it over any longer, of building up this petty anger. It was time to go home.

*

He reentered the house a without turning on the lights; his keen senses led him with ease through the cold interiors and to his bedroom. He wanted nothing but to play for a moment at the upright piano, some classics, Bach and Mendelssohn. That he did diligently for nearly an hour, his perfect fingers playing perfect melodies that no one but he could hear and that not even he could enjoy. It was a task given to him, it always had been, music, the great _raison d'être_. The task had been completed long ago, everything since was superfluous. 

He closed his eyes tightly and played with utmost focus, but still the thoughts came crashing back: the solitude, the crimes, the shame, the years of struggling to survive, struggling to be more than a monster and more than man, only to come to this. The simple truth that ecstasy and agony are one and the same. 

When the last note had finished ringing he rose from the bench and walked over to his dresser. Inside the top drawer was a gold snuffbox covered in a mother-of-pearl flower pattern, the hiding place of his latest purchase. How fortunate he had been to find a point of supply. Pushed against a corner of the red velvet lining was the lovely little object. The smooth piece of lignum vitae shaped into a gentle point weighed beautifully in the palm of his hand. Dense enough to sink in water, this was the ideal type of ironwood. Perfect for guitar picks, in fact, but more perfect in this form. The craftsman had even taken his request for an inscription, in small script on one side, _mortem effugere_ , and on the other, _nemo potest_. He felt a jolt— blood rising within him. Not now, but soon enough.


	12. Chapter 12

  
  


“Nothing quite as lovely,” Adam said sinisterly, “as the neck of a young lady.” 

His fingers wrapped around, almost encircling Beryl’s neck completely in one hand. She stretched her chin forward and settled into his grip, knowing it would only tighten if she struggled. 

“Scaring me really gets you off, doesn’t it?” she strained to say. 

“That would only be true if it ever worked.” 

They exchanged a smirk and he released her, only to quickly grab hold of her again by the shoulders and keep her still while he kissed her passionately and uninhibitedly, as if during the weeks apart he had done nothing but long for her return. That was how he made her feel, that was his real hold on her. 

That morning had marked the first day that she’d managed to let the thought of Adam unravel from her mind and return to a bit of normalcy. Beryl felt a true sense of self as she awoke by the light of the sun in her own bed, having slept through the night at last. She folded her blankets, washed her face, and ate until full, listening to the howling wind and the cars passing by. Her apartment was bright at that time of day, and she sat on her window sill to bask in the early light, enjoying every bit of heat that was gradually melting the frost built up on the edges on the glass. She brought her lips close to it and playfully drew a star on the foggy circle created by her breath. She decided it was a good time to wash her clothes and restring her old guitar, which she did calmly and without a thought to anything else. The cat ate from his dish next to her while she painted her nails on the kitchen table. Time was moving on—could she move on? Everything was alright.  
Her phone buzzed in the afternoon.

_I can’t sleep. Please come.  
Yours, Adam_

The leash had been pulled. No sooner had she read the message than she was entering Adam’s house via the garden through the unlocked servants’ door and running up the stairs to find him. When she crossed from the hallway into the sitting room a dark figure wrapped itself around her, a strong arm on her back and a hand on her neck. To look at Adam’s face again was like falling into a spell, suddenly the disorder in her head was silent, and the numbness clouding her senses vanished. She clung to him during their drawn-out kiss, mouth sealed against mouth as though he were breathing life into her. This must be the ecstasy of blood, she thought—what it feels to feed from a body.  
  
The feeling of muscles rippling under thin fabric sent a shiver through her and she slid both hands under his shirt to feel his skin, that perfect pale skin that she could dig her nails into without ever leaving a mark. Adam tore her hands away from him abruptly, holding them by her side as he lessened the intensity of the kiss to slow darts of the tongue that seem to last for ages. The urgency was clear, but he was withholding; he wanted something more than a desperate fuck, he wanted to feel every bit of her, to taste her inside and out.

In Adam’s room, Beryl’s body lay sprawled across the bed, skin glowing like gold in the candlelight. He had led her there and prepared her to his liking, for a night of indulgence that began with him undressing her and relishing in her nude figure as she walked and luxuriated throughout his home. They shared a crystal glass, drinking wine and blood from it in turns, playing records at full volume so their lustful whispers were muted.

As Adam watched her in her striking beauty he felt all-powerful and for that moment to be alive was heaven. He imagined himself as Sardanapalus surrounded by his riches, by voluptuous women and robes of silk, before facing the burning pyre. If only his desire for life matched his desire for her. 

She lay on her stomach looking through a book of old prints, ankles crossed and hair draped over the smooth curve of her back, that most beautiful feminine feature. Adam, now dressed in an old shirt and waistcoat for Beryl’s amusement, stepped into the bed and rolled onto his back next to her.

“Hello, Sir.” Her book put aside, she turned her attention to Adam, who had never looked more sublime. The strong bridge of his nose, the stubble speckled on his jaw… everything about him was perfect in this fog of passion that engulfed her. She lowered her head to place a kiss on his lips and allowed her hands to linger over the black brocade of his vest.

“Are you happy?” he asked.

“Yes, I am,” She replied, positively. “Are you?”

He said nothing, but wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her over him with effortless strength. All the while he had dreaded to touch her, he’d missed her fiery flesh and her animal scent, sweet like the blood running through her veins. It hurt him to do this; to be with her was to commit sin and do penance in unison, but in a time of anguish it was all he yearned for.

Beryl’s nimble fingers undid the buttons on his waistcoat and those of the shirt followed after. Adam’s eyes fluttered shut as she undid the tie and brushed her lips against his chest as light as feather. When she reached the groin of his trousers, he felt his breath tightened inside his ribcage, anxious as ever under the touch of a beautiful woman, like any man would be. A remembrance of lovers past echoed through his thoughts as her thighs settled on either side of him and she sank almost painfully slow until he filled her, tense and tight. His hips impulsively thrust forward, craving more. 

When he opened his eyes, the fantasy turned into a vivid reality. The enchanting face leaned in for another kiss, deep and passionate, tongues exploring, teeth clashing recklessly. Panting exhales misted hot breath over each other’s skin as they came up for air and dove in again and again. In this frenzy, a small nip to the inside of Beryl’s cheek drew a drop of blood and Adam fell back, overcome with a maddening rush that caused his pupils to dilate with hunger. He broke the kiss hastily to regain control of the situation, knowing that this had to be done, but he could not deny the pleasure the taste of her blood had brought him. He rested his head and lay writhing in a state of euphoria.  
But he would not stop the girl from finding her own ecstasy; she moaned and wailed and rolled her hips relentlessly until every bit of her swelled with satisfaction and every word from her lips was his name. Adam’s firm hands kept a tight rein on her waist as the crescendo within her rose to the brim and came crashing; a blissful flood of pleasure that caused her body to collapse over his. 

Beryl dropped onto the mattress, her back against the damp sheets as she regained her breath. Adam lay silently next to her with his face turned away while she stood to fetch a cigarette that filled the air with sweet smoke. She said a couple of things to him, eager to tell him about the books she had read during their time apart, hoping he would be proud, but received no reply. Once she saw that he was fast asleep she crawled to his side and nuzzled against his chest to join in the slumber. 

When she awoke, Adam was gone. No surprise there. Usually she found him by the sound of whatever instrument he was playing, but the house was eerily silent. Beryl located her clothes and shoes thrown on the Persian rug and dressed herself fully. It was nearly night-time again and she would have to be excused for a moment to drive home and feed Remy. Then she would be back again, to be held in Adam’s arms and to revel in their rekindled romance for as long as the stars dotted the sky. 

Outside in the corridor, she heard a faint noise coming from living room—Adam’s lethargic yet resonant voice. As she approached, she could see him in his black t-shirt sitting on the sofa and it caused a smile to appear on her face. But soon she realized he was reading aloud from a book, his soft words directed to a television screen transmitting the image of a white-haired woman.  


_Eve._

She didn’t take the next step, instead she stood by the doorway, hidden from sight, and watched.  
  
_"‘However I with thee have fixed my lot, certain to undergo like doom; if death consort with thee, death is to me as life…’"_ His voice faltered and he cleared his throat before resuming. _"‘So forcible within my heart I feel the bond of nature draw me to my own, my own in thee, for what thou art is mine; our state cannot be severed, we are one, one flesh; to lose thee were to lose myself…’_ shall I go on, darling?” 

__The blurry likeness of Eve lowered her head slightly and sighed._ _

__“No, that’s quite alright. Thank you for that, my love, you know how I love to hear you read to me.” Her tone was calm and loving despite the tremble of her lips. She was visibly in distress, her eyes were glistening and red, but she maintained all of the ancient elegance that Beryl had expected. It made her almost sick to see Eve for the first time as a living being; that she had to acknowledge the existence of yet another vampire so suddenly again, that she had to acknowledge the existence of Adam’s wife._ _

__Adam set the book down. There was a long silence between the two of them, a loaded silence of things left unsaid simply because there was no need to say them. This was the mark of two people who had shared their lives for a very long time; one’s eyes saw into the other’s soul. Eve lifted a finger to dab the corner of her eyelashes and Adam was suddenly discomforted._ _

__“Oh, please don’t cry again,” he pleaded quietly._ _

__“How can I not?”_ _

__“It already hurts enough, Eve. It can’t go on.”_ _

__“You have been with me for three and a half centuries, my dear, which is no short period of time, even for me. And now you’re leaving me; you have hollowed out my heart.”_ _

__Beryl’s mouth opened in an inaudible gasp. Was Adam really doing this? Was he leaving Eve?_ _

__“You knew the time would come, darling. I warned you many times and I am deeply sorry, but I’ve made my decision at last. Isn’t it better this way? Me telling you outright instead of you never hearing from me again?”_ _

__Eve didn’t answer._ _

__“When will you do it?”_ _

__“I’m not sure. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow. Very soon.”_ _

__“And how will it be done?”_ _

__Adam tapped a forefinger against his chest, directly over his heart. “The tried and true way.”_ _

__Now Beryl was confused about the nuances of their conversation and it made her uneasy. She watched anxiously as Eve wept again and a heavy tear traveled down Adam’s face._ _

__“I only hope to God that you don’t suffer,” she said to him._ _

__“And I hope that you don’t, although I know you will. And I know that you will miss me, perhaps even hate me for abandoning you, but please remember that I loved you as much as I could for as long as I could and like you I’ve loved no one else.”  
They leaned in closer, eager to create intimacy at this moment despite the vast ocean and lands between them. _ _

__“You amaze me, you unearthly thing,” she said to him, nearly smiling. “Today you’ve made my greatest fear come true and still I’m not tempted to beg you to change your mind. I know you and I know that I chose to love you. I will have to live with that.”_ _

__“And live you will, my love.”_ _

__They spoke for some time in whispers in a language Beryl did not understand and their bond seemed so close anyone who watched them would have believed no one had ever been closer. They did this until Eve’s ethereal face disappeared in a flash, leaving Adam to sink into the sofa and contemplate alone.  
He sat silently, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand as the green glow of the screen faded. His sorrow was quiet and dignified, Beryl thought, unlike the weak, pitiable sobbing she had done so much of while waiting for him to beckon her near. She’d imagined that somewhere in his core was a profound sincerity, but witnessing it astonished her. Her vision had hyper-focused solely on the figure of Adam in the flickering flames of the candelabrum, so that when the question was asked, she did not hear it until it was repeated. _ _

__“What are you doing?”_ _

__Beryl was startled but remained quiet. He hadn’t seen her, she was sure of it._ _

__“I know you’re here. I can feel you watching me.”_ _

__He must have heard her. She had no choice but to timidly step out into the light and confess her presence kindly._ _

__“I’ve only been—“_ _

__“Do you think it’s fair for you to be intruding on my conversation? I suppose you think you have a right to my private life.”_ _

__As quickly as he had cut her down she became tongue-tied, intimidated by his pointed speech. “I just… I wasn’t standing there long. I don’t know how you heard me, Adam.”_ _

__“Oh, don’t give me that shit.” He stood to meet her face to face with an expression that was not quite anger, but rather panic. The confrontation seemed to come from a place of shame.  
“Now that you’ve come to pry into my personal matters, you’ve discovered my intentions. We’re even, aren’t we? We’re truly getting to know each another at last.”_ _

__“No, I don’t understand what you mean. I don’t know what you were talking with your wife about.”_ _

__“You love to play innocent.”_ _

__“It sounded… like you were breaking up with Eve.”_ _

__“Don’t be ridiculous!” he sneered through his teeth._ _

__“You said you were leaving her…”_ _

__“I’m leaving her—I’m leaving everything! Don’t you fucking get it, Celine?”_ _

__Stunned silence. That name, she hadn’t heard it in a long time. Where did come from? Why did it still exist? She felt her spirit crumble and at the pit of her stomach the instinct to flee began to take root._ _

__“W-why would you call me that?” Beryl stammered._ _

__“It is your name, isn’t it? Took me a long time to figure out something so simple. You’re very good at hiding things deep within.”_ _

__A look a dismay had turned her face pale and yet her eyes burned with anger._ _

__“How do you know? I’m serious, Adam, how?”_ _

__“You told me. You’ve been telling me many things this whole time, being so close to me. You’re surrounded by whispers like no zombie I’ve never met.”_ _

__Bewildered and distraught, she offered the only explanation. “You can read my thoughts.”_ _

__“Please. If only it were that easy. You have the nerve to smile at me, to talk to me about the beauty of the world, the goodness of mankind. The sheer audacity to show me affection under pretenses, to bring your demons into my home. Your skin is crawling with dishonesty, it sickens me! I want to die just a little more every time I’m near you.”_ _

__“How can you say that to me? I love you with all my heart, and you’re acting as if I disgust you. You called me over, you wanted me here. You want to talk about deceit? How about not fucking telling me you were only putting your hands on me so you could get into my head!”  
_ _

“Enough! You know very well I cared for you, I trusted you when I trust no one else. And look at what that has brought me.” He turned her back to her, his eyes traveling across the room to the photographs on the wall. Heroes, friends, brilliant minds underappreciated in their own time. He began to pace and lingered over an image of himself, lost in thought. A cello was propped up against the wall beneath the pictures and he walked over to pluck a few strings. The sound echoed like church bells. “Fortunately, in no time none of this will matter. _Media vita in morte sumus._ It makes all things equal, no man can escape it.” 

__“You’re just talking nonsense now.”_ _

__“I’m going to kill myself. I am.”_ _

__A wave of melancholy had crashed into their lives, and Adam allowed it to wash over him, to cleanse him of the guilt he felt for his cowardliness; that he had waited this long to even speak the words.  
He looked at her again, defiantly, and watched as tears slowly threatened to spill over Beryl’s eyes in confusion or anger or sadness or all of these emotions at once. She didn’t believe him, and yet she did. It made sense, everything was falling into place. But it wasn’t true, it simply could not happen._ _

__“You can’t die, you’re a vampire. You said it yourself, you can’t die.”_ _

__“There’s always a way. I thought you zombies knew this. Do you think we nearly ceased to exist because we were impossible to kill? No, there’s always a way.”_ _

__There was sincerity in his voice again. He was telling the truth, and his truth was a terrible one._ _

__“I don’t believe you.”_ _

__“Yes, you do.”_ _

__“I thought you were better. I thought we were happy, that our love—“_ _

__“Oh, love. Love!” Adam said with ire. “Do you think a few months of my time wasted with a woman in my bed means anything? How stupid can you be? To think that I would love you!”_ _

__He couldn’t stop her. As soon as the words left his mouth, she disappeared from the room in a hurried whirl, the sound of her feet stomping down the stairs followed and the front door slammed shut with a loud bang._ _

__At that moment Adam, in a flare of rage, ran to his bedroom and sought to retrieve his revolver from the chest of drawers along with the wooden bullet hidden in the snuffbox. He unhinged the barrel to load the single round into the cylinder, spun it and locked it back into place—a weapon ready to fire. His heart pounded fiercely as though it would burst and he drew in a breath and shut his eyes before aiming the barrel of the pistol just over the awful sound, prepared to silence it forever.  
Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger._ _

__Stillness. No fire. Adam’s eyes opened listlessly. Staring back at him from the old spotted mirror hung on his bedroom wall was his own reflection, that which only he could see. The man was a specter who had been haunting him for far too long. He raised his arm up to point the gun at the mournful, weary eyes returning his glare and fired once more._ _

__The mirror came crashing down to the floor, shattered into sharp little fragments._ _


	13. Chapter 13

_Are you alone?_

The voice seemed to come from inside her head. It was the only possible explanation. She’d heard it so clearly even though the bar and floor were swarmed with noise of the Friday crowd. Beryl stared into the bottom of her half-filled glass. _Yes, more than ever._

“You don’t have to be.”

It was now clear that it was coming from right beside her, the sugar-sweet, youthful voice. Still, she was unsure anyone had noticed her, convinced that her entire being had disappeared, that not even a hollow shell of herself remained. She hadn’t spoken to someone in so long, she wondered whether she should respond, whether it would even matter. Paralyzed by hopelessness, she did things now only out of habit. If only she could keep going as if nothing had happened, she would not be pulled under the waters of despair—that was the logic behind it. But now here was someone speaking into her ear, asking her to break from the comforting embrace of silence and routine. 

Her vision shifted only a little at first, impulsive and curious about this person that had decided to interrupt her sorrow. Strands of crimped yellow hair touching pale shoulders. Eyes move a bit more. A heart-shaped jaw and dark-rose lips. 

Beryl looked up to see Ava, whose flushed face looked gentler than she remembered.

 

*

 

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“Not really. Coffee’s fine, thanks.”

Ava had only simple questions, harmless questions, but it became clear to Beryl that prolonged silence had caused her to lose the art of conversation. She answered plainly, not knowing what else to say to this fey stranger that looked back at her sympathetically and seemed to be able to anticipate her needs. 

They sat across from each other in a booth beside the red neon light of an ‘open’ sign in a shabby corner diner only populated at this hour by blue collar patrons sitting on stools at the counter. The moments of quiet awkwardness were long between their exchanges, but the two managed to overcome the harshness of their first meeting through gentle apologies and explanations. Ava had been shocked to see Adam with a woman, to see him at all, she said, because he lived in self-imposed exile from the rest of world. Their personal history was long and far too complicated to get into, but she’d felt it was only right to warn Beryl about him. He keeps women on the hook. He gives you everything so he can have the power to take it away. He fucks with your head. That was what Ava had to say. 

Beryl nodded politely after each poignant word and despite the strangeness of the situation, she was warming up. Here was someone who had lived through the very same thing that had wreaked havoc on Beryl’s life. Here was someone stronger and more self-possessed. Ava’s admirably cool presence was a disturbing affirmation of how pitiable and weak Beryl had become in comparison to other women—in comparison to her former self. She twisted the ring on her finger anxiously.

“So, does the ring symbolize your name?” Ava asked. 

“What? Uh, no. I didn’t even know what it was until Adam pointed it out. It was gift.”

“It’s a very pure beryl, actually. Goshenite.”

“That’s what he told me.”

Beryl took another sip and minutes passed before Ava asked another question.

“How did you meet Adam, anyway?”

“Um, he came up to me one night after he saw me play.” 

Ava waited patiently, her chin resting on the back of her lacy glove, for Beryl to say more. 

“… I was playing a set at a club in Corktown and when I ended he just appeared out of nowhere… like destiny or something. And I don’t know, I guess I’m the kind of person that’s dumb enough to talk to anyone, so I started talking to him even though he was a little strange. It turned out he was actually really fascinating. I couldn’t help but want to stay there with him for the rest of the night; I tried to play it cool, but I think he saw right through me. He knew that I would want to see him again, so I thought, what’s the use in fighting it? I agreed to work for him, figured he must have some money. Just fetching him things, running his errands. It was great, it made me feel like I had purpose, like maybe I could make a connection with someone again.”

“What do you mean?”

Beryl shrugged and began to compulsively comb her fingers through her hair.

“You don’t have to tell me. You don’t have to say anything at all; just keep it locked away if that’s more comfortable for you. But if I were you, I wouldn’t be so reticent.”

Beryl looked out at nothing as she estimated her own courage. She took a drink from the steaming cup.

“I guess I mean he made me feel validated. I’ve never been sure if I was good at anything or if I was just able to make it through life with a smile and determination. No one’s ever been that impressed by me and I was just fine with that.” She contemplated for a moment. “When I met him I had just moved into town and I was doing what I knew for a bit of money. Small gigs, busking, whatever. So I kind of jumped at the chance to work for him because I had nothing to lose… because I’m reckless, honestly.” Another sip of coffee. Thoughts were forming in her head. “I figured out who he was pretty quickly, and you better believe I was over the moon about it. Not only was he elegant and gorgeous, like a description straight out of a gothic novel, but he was the most brilliant, most mysterious musician in the world. No one knew who he was except me. Can you imagine? Coming to his house every week, having conversations with him, writing him e-mails. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t give a shit that he seemed so uninterested in me most of the time—I loved it. Whenever I got even a little spark out of him, I was so pleased with myself. And every now and then he would pay me a compliment… I felt so fucking special. There’s something so intoxicating about him. When he’s ready to share himself and be himself around you and let you in, he is absolutely intoxicating.”

Ava nodded in agreement. 

“And I loved the feeling of existing in an alternate reality. When I was with him, nothing matter except the two of us—we weren’t trapped by time, it was another universe altogether. It was like he had all of the answers to everything I wanted to know and was able to give me everything that I ever wished for. I didn’t need anyone else but him. He taught me about music and philosophy and literature. He was more to me than anyone in my life has ever been… or at least I felt that way at the time.” Beryl cleared her throat, determined not to begin to choke up. “I’d never had the privilege of being around someone like him, or living in that kind of house, or speaking about art and ideas like they were the most important thing in the world. You can’t go back from that. I don’t know if I can, anyway. When I looked at Adam, I saw what I wanted my future to be. I saw that I had a future. I used to just watch him all the time; I’d watch him play for hours, not saying anything, just entranced by the beauty of it, and the freedom of believing I’d never have to lead another way of life again.” She paused to think about what to say next. “Last I saw him…” A tear threatened to fall from the corner of her eye. She didn’t know if Adam was living or dead and she could not bring herself to admit it or even think of it. Uncertainty was at the crux of misery. “Never mind.”

Ava pursed her lips and sighed listlessly. 

"Hmm. Common girl falls in love with brooding aristocrat. Wow."

"I know, I know. It's pathetic." Beryl, with a keen sense of shame, groaned and dropped her face into her hands. “I’ve been useless my whole life… I’ve got no education, no family, no real job. Why would I mean anything to someone like him?”

"Oh, honey, don't be so hard on yourself. It’s time to let go of the fantasy. You’ve got it into your head that he’s too good for you, that because he speaks in measured words like every other blue-blooded asshole that it means that he’s somehow beyond reproach. And who wouldn't fall for him? He's beautiful, cultured, enigmatic. A musician."

"A genius."

"Yeah, to be sure, but he's--" Ava scoffed and clenched her jaw. "He's so fucking pretentious and superior. They think they're better than the rest of us, they've always thought so, him and his woman. I've known Adam for far longer than you have, darling. You may think he's retained some of his humanity, and he'll have you believe he's above it all, but you don't know who he is or what he's done."

"What is it?"

"He's nothing but a murderer. Only months ago he was sucking the blood out of pretty young girls’ necks in Tangier and dragging their bodies into the sea, but now he's back to being high and mighty with his store-bought O negative, as if he's not a fucking fiend."

Beryl’s shoulders narrowed with fright. Ava was right, of course. It was so easy to forget that Adam, despite all his refinement and sophistication, was an undead creature. A vampire. And Eve, she was one too. And Ava, she was a vampire, but somehow different. Her style of dress and behavior were not antiquated, not in the least bit. This girl was, in many ways, similar to her—she slouched when she sat and twirled her own hair absentmindedly. She was eager to talk and open with emotions. This whole time, Adam had been her only true friend and it was almost as if she’d forgotten that there were other people she could possibly confide in aside from him. 

“I just felt that he was very human around me,” Beryl explained, but could think of no other excuse. She struggled to say something more. “He could be kind sometimes. He tried.”

Ava looked at her contemplatively before sitting straight and adopting a more serious demeanor. It was time to bear the truth.

“If you’ll allow me to lend you a bit of wisdom: The worst thing you can do to yourself as a woman is let a man believe that he can mold you into whatever shape he desires. You don’t owe it to anyone to be physically and emotionally available to them when they don’t do the same for you in return.”

Beryl listened. 

“They can do whatever they want to us, can’t they? Only if you allow it, dear. Only if they see you crawl back. No one wants to hear it because it’s hard to admit to your own weakness—you want to think you’re clever enough to avoid it. But that’s the power that men have. The only way to break that power is by valuing yourself and your happiness enough to not forgive them. Fuck it. They don’t deserve us.”

Beryl sat silently, once again looking at nothing, thinking of everything. A waitress refilled her cup and she thanked her. Ava waited for her reply as if time was of no concern. 

“It’s funny… I know you’re right, but for some reason I feel this strong resistance deep in my heart. He’s been awful to me, I totally recognize that. I’m not spineless or easily manipulated. I’m not the type to fawn over men just for existing. But when it comes to Adam, I still wanna believe he’s good. And I know I’m wrong. I know it, but I don’t believe it. Do you understand?”

Hearing her voice begin to crack, Ava reached out across the table and placed her hand over Beryl’s. “Of course. If I don’t understand, who will?”

The gesture was meant to be comforting, and yet Beryl was instantly reminded of speaking with Adam for the first time and agreeing to go along with his plan. He’d covered her hand with his in the same way as a sign of appreciation. She withdrew her hand from beneath Ava’s and clasped them together under her chin, her entire body shrinking under distress. 

"You’re so young. It's difficult to get over one's first love."

Beryl bit the corner of her mouth and shook her head, hesitantly. A terrible feeling was slowly rising within her, drowning her from the inside. Memories of things past had returned to swarm like a plague.

"He's not my first love."

"No?"

“I'm married."

Seeing Ava’s eyes widen, Beryl looked away to avoid her judgmental glare. 

"Well, aren't you an interesting one,” she remarked facetiously, but Beryl felt no trace of condemnation in that statement. “Are you separated? Must cause a lot of trouble nowadays for someone so young to marry. It's not like back when your family picked out some rich bore for you and you just hoped he was tolerable to look at and didn't drink. Now love plays a hand in it—so complicated. Anyway, I'm being rude. It's none of my business, but…”

Beryl’s head collapsed into Ava’s hands and she wept openly, feeling that she could no longer keep herself from succumbing to the disease that haunted her.

“It’s alright, darling," Ava whispered. "It’s alright.”


	14. Chapter 14

The white Jaguar slowed down to a stop in front of the gas station and Adam placed his shades on the bridge of his nose before exiting the car and entering the tenebrous realm of the Detroit night. He looked around, enjoying the unusual quiet and the predictable cold, but nothing more. He was not in town for leisure, anyway. He had come to see about something and there was no time to waste. He was grateful to spot a familiar face through the window glass and his steps grew quicker and more confident as he approached. 

The door chimed when Adam walked through and the young man looked up from his book to see who had come in. His eyes were perfectly clear despite it being the middle of the night, a trait shared by humans who had grown accustomed to the dark hours. Adam had known many of them. 

"Evening," the shop clerk said with a practiced and polite tone. He tilted his head and pushed his tongue to the front of his mouth as he scanned Adam, trying to place him in his memory. Inside the store, the lights were so offensively bright that even with the shades it took Adam a moment to fully adjust his senses before replying.

"Evening. Your name is Steph, yes?"

Ah. He knew when he'd seen the willowy man in black before. "Yeah, that's me."

"I don't mean to bother you during your work, but have you seen Celine lately?"

Steph's eyes blinked quickly and he crossed his arms over his chest. "Sorry, I don't know any Celine."

"... Do you know a Beryl?"

At this Steph gave a small smile. "Yeah, of course. I remember you from when she came in a while back."

Adam said nothing in return.

"I haven't seen her since. It's a shame, I really like her. She’s a firecracker, that one."

"I see."

The clerk chuckled and flashed the palms of his hands defensively. "Sorry, I didn't mean it that way. If she's your girl, I get it. I would never step outta line."

"It's not that. I apologize for being short with you."

Steph raised his eyebrows suddenly at the expression and smiled more broadly.

“You see, my messages to her don’t seem to be going through; I only hope she’s safe. She’s a dear friend and I’ve not been in contact with her in a fortnight, at least.”

With a look of bewilderment, Steph shook his head slightly as Adam spoke. 

"Man, where are you even from?"

"What do you mean?"

"You sound like a prince."

Adam let out a breath in exasperation. “It’s just the accent. Americans aren’t used to it.”

"It's not just that, though. It’s not just that.”

Adam narrowed his eyes behind the black lenses and awaited an explanation, but all the young man did was look him up and down with intrigue. He seemed to making a study of Adam, taking note of all his features and idiosyncrasies, trying to figure him out. The more Steph looked, the more uneasy he appeared. 

“I see strange people all the time; I'm not surprised by any regular weirdo. But you have this aura about you... like you're not from this world."

"Are you a medium? Do you have some sort of sixth sense that would allow you to know these things?"

"No, nothing like that. But I was born in Haiti and my mom used to always say that you could recognize a curious spirit when you met one. That reality's a little bit altered when you're around them. Sometimes we'd walk down the street and she'd shoo us away from a random person and force us to walk the opposite way. Sometimes she'd treat complete strangers with reverence like she knew they had some power greater than her own. That's the feeling I'm getting from you. I've never felt it before."

Adam was impressed. It was rare that a human could read him so well, and so quickly. 

"Well, let me assure you, Steph,” he said, leaning over the counter. “I am most definitely from this world."

"… Okay," the clerk conceded, surely unconvinced. He took a moment to gather himself. “Yeah, okay. Listen, Beryl's just acquaintance, I don't know much about her, but I do remember her having a stamp on her hand in the shape of a triangle a couple of times. It's from a bar called The Black Door. She mentioned once that she went to it all the time because it was on the same street as her apartment."

That was all Adam needed to know. He thanked the young man and offered to tip him for his troubles, but he declined. Steph seemed to be in hypnotic state of amazement and continued to watch Adam after offering to let him borrow his phone instead of going out into the cold to use a payphone. What kind of person didn’t have a cell phone nowadays, he wondered. Who still called an operator to get a street address?

Adam finished the call and handed the device back to its owner, whose hands were now noticeably trembling. As he turned to leave, Steph called out after him.

"Hey, can I ask you one thing?"

"Sure."

"Are you a zombie?"

An arch smile crept into the corner of Adam’s lips.

"No. You are."

 

*

 

Adam knew this part of town, although he’d not been here for some time. He had a certain familiarity with the roads and landmarks, a sense of where he needed to go.  
He’d made a plan that had fallen through, but Beryl didn’t know this. _Let her come to you, let her find her way back_ , he thought, but still his apologies went either unread or ignored and it caused a true sadness in him, a sadness that could be attributed to regret rather than the vague condition of existence. What had become of her in the weeks since, he wondered. Whatever had happened, however she felt, it was all because of him. It was because of his interference in the life of a very decent girl who had put herself at his mercy and whom he had been so callous towards. If he were honest with himself, it was clear he’d been stringing her along ever since he invited her into his bedroom for the first time, seemingly innocently. It was a terrible trap of masculinity, to have emotional control over vulnerable women, and he tragically kept the tradition alive. How backward, how horrid he was, even after all this time. 

But time would heal him, Eve promised when they spoke soon after he had failed to kill himself again. Time would teach him to be a better man. She wasn’t angry at him for what he had put her through—she never was angry, only disappointed. Never in his life had he considered himself deserving of Eve’s devotion, and yet even at the lowest lows, she remained by his side. She comforted him and guided him out of the darkness of his wretched state with compassion, as if she had lived through it herself and knew the way out of the labyrinth. Eve was his great love.

Feeling penitent, but still deeply ashamed, he’d waited for Beryl to make the first contact. The moon rose and set day after day without a sign from her. Waking up alone again in the late evening, he decided that agonizing over this was detrimental to the progress he had made recently and he could no longer bear to worry about the poor girl. 

So here he was now, trying to trace her trail. There were only a few loose ends to go by, and he knew this was due to his insistence on keeping distance between himself and Beryl. He’d first thought about the man whom he’d seen speaking with her at the concert hall, remembered something about buying instruments from him. No music shops were open in the middle of the night, naturally. Then he recalled their altercation outside of a gas station, and this led him back to Steph, a good-natured man who saw more than most could see. Thank God. 

Adam drove slowly past the black door of what seemed to be place the clerk had told him about and scanned the streets for signs of life. A few faces here and there, but none familiar or recognizable. He slowed down more, drove around and back up the same road. This was it—this was the street where she lived. He looked up at the rows of residential buildings and wondered which window was hers, soon realizing that he had no plan aside from this and no way of knowing exactly where she would be. After a few minutes, he thought perhaps he would have to return again the next day. And maybe the next. If not, what else could he do but wait? He couldn’t wait. A life of idleness is no life at all, Eve always said. He had to know Beryl was well, whether or not she ever wanted to speak to him again. No one could blame her for that. He would only have to live with himself, a creature full of regret over innumerable wrongdoings, and this much he was capable of.

An empty parking spot at the end of the block caught Adam’s eye and he decided there was nothing left to do tonight but pace the street in vain. He left the white car in the distance as he walked the icy pavement, already having abandoned the effort of searching for any sign. Looking mindlessly at the ground, he hummed a few melodies softly to himself and listened to the wind whistle through the bare trees. It seemed that only a minute had passed when from a distance he saw two pairs of legs, almost identical, rounding the corner and walking in unison toward him. The two women were arm in arm like sisters, or lovers, or friends—one dressed with flair in a bright fur coat, and the other nearly disappearing like a shadow in the night. 

The women came closer and closer and their scent flooded his senses suddenly, sending alarms throughout the entirety of his body. Muscles tensed, breathing quickened, pupils dilated, teeth bared. Beryl and Ava. It could only be a mirage—a hallucination brought on by his exhausted mind. He walked towards them and they towards him, the pair becoming visible and real and in the flesh. A dizzying torrent of anger was set off by the nightmarish sight, worse than he could have ever imagined. Beryl and Ava. He should have known.


End file.
